


Two Knights, One Life, Now and Forever

by paupotter_4869



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fix it Fanfic, WHO'S WITH ME, because it was too much for my poor shipper heart, but fluffy, happiness and the joyful ending they BOTH DESERVED, just trying to cure my aching heart, just want them to be happy, lets all collectively pretend the second half of the season never happened, never ignored canon so hard in my fandom life, not even going to tag canon divergence because the show IT IS NOT CANON to me, now I'm regretting every minute I spent waiting for this eighth season, pure and complete bliss, that is all you'll find here, that's all, the horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: Fixed the no longer final scene between Jaime and Brienne, where Jaimedoesn'tabandon Brienne and instead stays with her at Winterfell. Basically, a fix-it of the MESS that was season 8, and with the simple yet so comforting premise "they deserve a soft epilogue."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to George R. R. Martin's characters and story.

“You are not your sister. You’re not. You’re better than she is. Please, stay with me.” 

She’s never surrendered like this to any man, or woman, before. She’s never begged, cried, she barely remembers using the word ‘please’ to ask anything of anyone. . . except for Jaime. She’s stripped naked--figuratively and literally for this man, dropped her walls, her armors, her guard, and he’s seen her for who she is. 

In the process, Brienne’s seen Jaime for who he truly is as well--and he is not his sister. They were raised in a wicked world of lies and manipulation and coercion through fake love. As soon as Jaime was away from King’s Landing for a while, he started to see another part of himself, a part he was unaware it existed and that he still fears. His sister feels safe and comfortable because it’s all he’s known. Loyalty to his family and to the King, or Queen, he's vowed to protect. He’s yet to see how wicked and horrifying that whole world is. And Brienne’s not bound to let him go back there and lose himself--let Cersei be Jaime’s doom, when he’s come so far. 

“You’re a good man and you can’t save her. You don’t need to die with her.” 

Cersei’s been his priority for so long, his whole world and reason to keep fighting for so many years, that she’s blinded him. Brienne’s words barely get through his thick skull. She still believes in him. She first vouched for him in front of all the Lords from the North, and Queen Daenerys herself, and now she’s still trying to. . . What? They keep saving each other, maybe this time isn’t so different. Perhaps she’s trying to save him from the stupidest death in the world--worse than passing out and dying in a bathtub. 

“Stay here. Stay with me. Please.” 

With her plea she finally achieves some sort of reaction from Jaime, finally. For the very first time, Jaime looks up, stare at her in the eye. There’s that hollow and lost expression, a thousand feelings he cannot name, holding his breath. Brienne’s hold on him doesn’t waver for a second and she holds on the way he's softly, weakly, confusingly caressing her wrist. 

“I’m a hateful person. . .” he whispers.

Oh, if she had Oathkeeper right now with her, she’d make Jaime fight for it--and he would lose, no doubt about it. Lose in such a calamitous way that he’d never make it out of the infirmary bed in weeks. When it’d be too late for him to go to Cersei. 

“. . . And the last person in the world who ever loved me will come to hate me too when I put my sword through her chest,” he finishes. 

At that, Brienne starts bawling, unable to keep her sobs. She thought he was really going to leave her--and she would never have overcome the grief. The prospect itself made her feel so horribly hollow, and at the same time it made her feel worse realizing she'd let her guard down to let another man in, use her and make fun of her. But, in a way, Jamie's words make it all better: he's not leaving her. He just wants to fulfill another one of his duties. Kill the woman who's proven to be as horrible as the Mad King. Get rid of the woman who's controlled, abused and manipulated him for years without him knowing. This, Brienne can understand--and talk Jaime out of it.

In the meantime, she just keeps holding him right there, not letting him go when he tries to shake her hands off. No, she’s not letting this happen. She might understand his reasons, but that doesn't mean she's going to let him do this.

“It’s the one thing I’m doing right. I've got to do this,” Jaime tries to explain, with a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The woman in front of him taught him that--good from bad. He’s always fought the evil, even when the rest of the world didn’t know so. There’s one more evil to take care of. He can be a Queenslayer too.

“Don’t,” Brienne begs, pulling him back. “You don’t need to be there. Queen Daenerys will destroy that city and Cersei will die at her hands. She will kill you too if she even sees you near the city. So stay with me, here. Stay safe here. Please.”

After a few seconds, Jaime nods. Brienne sighs deeply, closes her eyes and can’t stop herself before she leans to kiss him briefly on the lips. She pulls away soon enough, for she can sense the stiffness and surprise and awkwardness from Jaime’s tense body and unresponsive lips. She just drags him by the arm, each of his footsteps painstakingly slow, to a corner of the courtyard where she’ll see him with time to spare were he try to flee. She leaves him for less than thirty seconds to return the horse back to the stables, but when she meets Jaime again, he’s taken off and dropped his cloak and armor on the floor, sword included, and is just leaning against a wall. Lost. 

Brienne takes his arm softly and points towards their chamber. The invitation clear, but she gives him as much time as he needs to take the first step--the first conscious step away from his sister, consciously betraying his Queen, his love. Brienne follows him slowly, making sure he does not waver or have second doubts. 

Back at their chambers, she locks the door, drags two chairs in front of the crackling fire and helps Jaime on one of them. She then kneels in front of him. She remains silent, waiting for Jaime to make eye contact. 

“Do you love me?” she whispers. 

The question startles and baffles Jaime more than he already was; he just frowns and stutters without uttering a coherent full sentence. But then she rests her hands again on either side of his face and once more he takes one of them. 

“Then be loyal to _me_ ,” she begs of him. She didn't need to hear the words, not tonight. She just needed to give Jaime a reason for staying, a reason for living, a reason for fighting. This is what he knows. 

“I will,” he says, that grave and deep voice of his barely above a whisper. “I swear. In the name of--” 

“I do not need any oaths,” she interjects. “Just your word. Stay here with me. Safe. Please.” 

“I will,” he promises again, nodding. 

She nods too, finally breathing again, and then stands and pours two cups of wine--not that she’s going to drink at all tonight, and Jaime probably won’t either. After offering Jaime one of the cups, she sits down by his left side, so she can hold his arm and good hand. Letting him feel the warmth and know what true caring and love feels and looks like. No more words, no more pleas, no more tears--just silent comfort and support, side by side, looking at the fire warming the tears on their eyes. 

They just sit there, the silence oftentimes broken by Jaime’s sobbing, but Brienne doesn’t allow him to leave his chair, and doesn’t say a word to make things worse even. They would stay there until dawn--until it would be too late for Jaime to regret his decision and achieve anything meaningful at King’s Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped it'd be enough to erase from my memory what they did to Jaime and Brienne... Unfortunately, it wasn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Seldom in history, she thinks, has a raven brought so much joy and been such a cause for happiness. Brienne has rarely seen such an outburst of cheers and celebration brought in by a single piece of news, just a few scribbled lines. Stewards, per the Queen’s orders, have brought a couple barrels of wine and have handed out cups for everyone present, without allowing any exceptions--soldiers, stewards, Maester, wards, Lords, Septas. They all toast and drink to a bright new future free of tyranny. 

She’s graciously accepted her cup, taken a sip at the first toast and right now, she’s awaiting the respectful period of time before it’s righteous to take her leave. She gives her cup to a soldier by her side--who doesn’t even question the wine she offers--and goes to the head table, bending at the waist. Arya’s left her seat to celebrate the news with Gendyr and some more men, Sansa’s got a proud smile on her lips as she courteously drinks on her wine, and Bran’s face has remained, per usual, unchanged. Perhaps he knew the news before the raven got here to Winterfell. Perhaps he even saw what would happen months ago. 

“Lady Sansa. If you’ll pardon me, I must attend to something,” she says.

The Queen seems to understand her intentions as clearly as if she’d said them out loud, and doesn’t stop Brienne from fulfilling them out. “Yes, of course, sir Brienne. We’ll talk later.”

“Your Grace. My Lords,” Brienne bids farewell with generic formulas before turning and leaving the cambers, a soldier closing the door shut behind her.

Outside in the hall, as soon as she’s put some distance away from that room and away from those news, she stops and takes a second, closing her eyes to everything else. She shouldn’t be so shocked or affected, after all, they’ve been expecting these news for days now. It’s just, she knows the toll they’ll take on the man she loves--and that’s what breaking her heart. But he needs to hear it from her, no one else will be patient and considerate delivering the news, and so she plucks up her courage and heads straight to the training grounds. Where else would he be, really. 

She finds Jaime at the same exact spot he was the day before at the same time, and every day since they made Winterfell their temporary home: sparring out in the Training Grounds, groaning and sweating. She stops on the hill and stares at him training. He’s not as good as he used to be, granted, he’s slower and much more straightforward than he’d be fighting with his right hand, but it was a matter of time and practice, and he’s had a lot of those lately. His feet game is quick and smart, his instincts are on point--knows when and where to move to, when to dodge a blow or even when he should take a blow for an advantage point. He’s still a good fighter, even with that golden hand shimmering in the wane light of the sun through the clouds. 

He also used to cover that hand with a glove when he used to fight, Brienne notices. He doesn’t bother anymore--as soon as he realized people didn’t care about his golden hand or that his truly fighting days were over. The vast majority of men only care that he fought alongside them in the Great War--although Jaime never lacks voluntary opponents for when he wishes to train, on second thought. Oh, well. Some frivolous and innocent chivalry is never a bad thing. 

Right now Podrick takes a stand in front of Jaime and that’s a duel she’s interested in watching. Almost without realizing, her feet are taking her forward, closer to the two men, for now just moving in circles, assessing each other’s stand, wondering who will strike first and how to repel it. When she gets closer to the circle, she doesn’t stop the fight and instead stands with the other men, some of whom bow their heads at her--but none greet her out loud, as not to distract the fighters. 

Podrick launches the first attack, which Jaime dodges easily enough, pushing the younger man away with his golden hand. He gives Podrick time to pull himself together and take a stand for another strike--they’re just teasing, for now. Podrick strikes first again, their sparring words crash, and they struggle for a few seconds until Jaime, in a sudden and quick move, twists his arm, turns his body and hits Podrick straight on the back with his sword flat, sending the younger boy on the ground. 

“Come on, up. Up!” orders Jaime when Pod takes a second too long lying there. “This is nothing compared to the Great War, so don’t come crying now.”

At that, Podrick jumps up and launches at Jaime with a war cry. He deflects the attack and from that moment on the fight becomes a series of fast and well-delivered and well-avoided strikes, moving all around the sparring circle, encouraged by their brothers in arms. In a matter of minutes, however, Podrick is sent back on the snow. He did put in some very good blows, Brienne reckons with pride, as both men gasp heavily after the exertion. 

As for Jaime, he just nails his sword on the snow to show the end of the match and to give Podrick a hand standing, both men gasping with satisfied expressions. 

“Very good, boy. But you still take a double step before you strike--and as soon as your opponent realizes so, you’re finished,” he admonishes mildly, with a proud smile mirroring the one on Brienne’s face. Podrick’s getting better by the day--in a way, by sparring together, their own techniques are improving. 

Which is proven by a bold move from Podrick, who hits Jaime on the chest to unbalance him, then pushes his side to throw him on the ground and to top it all, kneels as well to rest his own sword against Jaime’s neck. 

“I never said I’d surrendered,” whispers the boy, making Jaime, and some of the other soldiers, snicker and laugh. 

“Had it been a real fight you wouldn’t have had to say anything, for that blow would have ended you,” Brienne interjects, stern out of concern for her former squire. 

Laughter subsides as Jaime and Pod discover her there, witnessing the whole thing. The other soldiers scatter at Brienne’s signal--in the meantime, Pod helps Jaime stand, goes to retrieve Jaime’s sparring sword and brushes off some snow from his cloak and armor. After a couple seconds, Brienne clears her throat and Pod disappears too. 

Jaime stares after the boy hurrying inside the Castle and then looks down on his sword, weighting it on his good hand. 

“How gallant of you to volunteer to train with me, Sir Brienne. Do pick up a sword.”

“You’re growing smug. You still couldn’t fight me if you had your right hand,” Brienne remarks, checking out the sparring swords forgotten on the ground. She tests one of them by swinging it a few times, assessing the weight and balance. 

“Perhaps I need a lesson on humility,” says Jaime, bending on the waist. 

“Or two,” nods the woman. 

Jaime tries to strike first, with a very obvious blow that any six-year-old with training could have easily dodged. The fight could go on for quite some time, if they were up to the challenge, but Brienne’s heart’s not really into it, and Jaime notices soon enough: she moves slower than usual, her strikes aren’t as tough and precise as he knows them to be, and oftentimes he catches her off guard. Knowing something’s not right and that sparring isn’t going to solve it, he cuts the fight short after a couple minutes when he allows Brienne to disarm him in a blow he could have dodged had he wanted to. But instead, he just lets his sword fall on the snow and raises his hand to show a white flag. 

“I’m exhausted. I can’t take another minute,” he says--a clear lie, perhaps to maintain Brienne’s honor and status amongst her soldiers. She nods in response, accepting his surrender, and picks up his sword. On their way back, he gasps and limps a little by her side, putting a bit too much effort on his charades. 

“I need to speak to you,” whispers Brienne as they return the sparring swords to the armory. 

“What is it?” 

“Come with me.” 

She takes him back to their chambers, the one place in Winterfell, and perhaps the whole world, where she can deliver such news. She drops her sword and armor on a chair and turns towards one very confused and terrified Jaime. He’s going to appreciate the privacy. He’s going to need some time. 

“What is it?” Jaime demands again after he lights the fire and takes off his cloak. 

“A raven came earlier,” she says slowly, for a minute not daring meeting Jaime’s eye. “The war is over. King’s Landing has fallen. There is no Iron Throne anymore--and Queen Daenerys rules the Seven Kingdoms now. 

"Regarding your sister. . . She has perished. She didn't surrender the city and Queen Daenerys burnt the Red Keep.”

Long before she delivered the last piece of news, Jaime has fallen on the bed and started bawling. Brienne sits by his side and holds him close, letting him weep against her chest. He loved Cersei. Twin brothers, born together, raised together, they were together for forty years. He thought he loved her--fathered all her children in secret, and vowed to protect her from any enemies of the Crown. Of course he’s hurt, of course he’s going to mourn her death, even when all around the Seven Kingdoms Queen Daenerys’ victory will be cheered for weeks on end. It’s understandable and only natural. But she’s probably the only person in Winterfell who understands his feelings towards Cersei's death.


	3. Chapter 3

All his life, people have tried to keep him a secret. Even as part of the royal family, he was always shoved to the side, hoping to keep him out of the public life and the embarrassment out of the common folks talk. So now, to reach Winterfell under the flag of House Targaryen, having people respect him for his title, feels strange and awkward--but also good. Albeit he needs steps to get off his horse and everyone looks down at him, they don’t look down on him anymore. 

“Your Grace,” he greets, bending by the waist. 

“Hand of the Queen,” Lady Sansa reciprocates formally. She doesn’t waste time with further useless diplomacy. “So, the Queen wants the North to bend the knee after all.” 

“No, that is not it, Your Grace,” Tyrion hurries to explain. “I’m not here on any official capacity.”

Lady Sansa, the glimmer of humor on her eyes and lips, points at Tyrion’s back with a nod of her head. Back at the dozen horses and soldiers who’ve accompanied Tyrion to the North all the way from King’s Landing. 

“Well, I like to make a pompous entrance now and then,” he jokes, and Lady Sansa laughs softly. “You’ll have to forgive me. Queen Daenerys didn’t want me to travel across the country without an official escort.” 

“There is nothing to forgive. She doesn’t want to lose a trusted and valued advisor. I understand that. So, what business brings you up North?”

“Personal matters, Your Grace.” 

She nods once, her face serious and stoic once more--she’d already expected that answer, maybe she’s been expecting her for some time already. She raises a hand and a soldier approaches. 

“Take Lord Tyrion to Sir Jaime’s chambers,” she orders. 

The soldier bows at them both, turns and leads the way, but before following the man, Tyrion turns towards Sansa again. She’s got an answer for him before he needs to utter the words. 

“Your men must be tired after the long journey. We’ll find suitable accommodations for them. I expect to see you at tonight’s feast so you can delight us with your news from the capital.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thank you, Lady Sansa,” accepts Tyrion, bending again before following the soldier. He’s waited for him and he also keeps up a shorter pace for his sake, as he takes Tyrion across the Castle. 

At some point they meet with Brienne of Tarth, standing in the middle of a corridor in full armor, staring through a window across the fields covered in many feet of snow. She looks tense--her shoulders, her jaw--but manages to smile briefly at seeing Tyrion’s arrival. The soldier stands to one side. 

“Sir Brienne.” 

“Lord Tyrion. Thank you for coming with such celerity.” 

“Thank you for writing.” 

“It’s down there.” Brienne points at the appropriate door. “He has barely left the chambers since the raven came. He doesn’t speak. Hasn’t been eating, either.” 

“I’m no Maester, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll see you later, Sir Brienne.” 

As the woman leaves, taking the soldier away with her, Tyrion takes a very deep breath before entering the chambers. He’s had weeks for preparing all sorts of speeches for his brother and yet he’s come empty handed. Cersei’s death has struck him badly, and he understands that, but there's only so much he can do for him. 

In the end he steps forward without thinking about it too much, knocks twice on the door and steps into the chamber without waiting for an answer. Jaime’s sitting on a chair in front of an almost extinguished fire, elbows on his knees, but doesn’t move at his entry, he doesn’t even look over his shoulder to see who it is--an unforgivable lack of caring coming from a military man. There’s a spare chair by his side, where probably Brienne, and anyone else who bothered, has spent hours and days looking after the same unresponsive Jaime who meets him. 

“Dear Lord, I haven’t missed this cold,” he scowls, approaching to add a log to the fire. “I know it’s winter, but it’s so much more cruel up here in the North than at the capital. What do we have here?” 

He approaches the desk with a jar and cups of wine, interested in the beverages, but as soon as he takes the jar in his hand he realizes it’s empty. Another fuck-up. 

“You knew I was coming to visit and you didn’t order a barrel of wine for your beloved brother?” he scowls, returning to the door and peeping around. He sees a soldier down the corner and whistles at him. “Bring us some wine, will you, lad?” 

Without waiting to see if the man complies, he shuts the door again. Uncertain of where to sit or stand, he walks around the room in circles. 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Jaime says all of a sudden. 

Tyrion gasps dramatically. “He speaks! I thought Brienne might have cut your tongue, considering how much you’ve used it lately.” 

“Not in the mood, Tyrion,” he warns. 

“Why? Because the monster of our sister is dead?” 

Jaime jumps out of his chair in rage, twirling in such a fast way that startles Tyrion and sends his chair to the floor. But after that outburst, no more actions follow--and he says nothing. Perhaps he can’t contradict his brother, he can’t find words to defend his sister. That’s why, when he Jaime remains silent, Tyrion steps closer to pick up the chair and points at Jaime to sit down again.

“You need to shave, my friend,” he remarks. 

“Why would you care how I look.”

“Oh, trust me, I don’t--you’re still the gorgeous one. But perhaps Brienne of Tarth isn’t as benevolent as I am. Alas, lad!” he cheers when there’s two knocks on the door. Fair enough, a steward has brought a jar of wine and two cups. Tyrion takes it all and shuts the door with his foot before the young girl tries to step inside to pour he wine--he can manage himself. Of course, he only pours one cup, knowing Jaime wouldn’t drink his. 

“I don’t mean to tell you how to live your life--”

“But that’s exactly why you’re here.”

“Cersei’s death isn’t worth mourning for two months.” 

“I should have been there with her.”

“Had you been, you’d be dead. I’d have no siblings and would be the last person to bear the Lannister name. A frightening prospect, to tell you the truth.”

“I was Lord Commander!” 

“And the father of her three children and the love of her life,” adds Tyrion, deadpan. “It. Wouldn’t. Have. Made. A. Difference. D’you hear me? You’d both be dead. Any man with a scant amount of common sense would realize one death is better than two.” 

“She relied on me!” 

“She manipulated and abused you for years,” he amends. “And you still think she could do no evil!” 

“It doesn’t take a brilliant mind like yours to know Cersei wasn’t the perfect example of an honorable and just woman,” scowls Jaime. “Even _I_ know that despite my lack of skills of proper character judgement. 

“How can you _stand_ living there? Where we lived, where your nephews were born and raised, where _she_ died?” he demands. 

“Guessing I didn’t love and hate Cersei as much as you do,” says Tyrion, soft voice. “And I’ve got a duty to fulfill towards my Queen.” 

“The woman who killed your sister.” 

“My _beloved_ sister,” Tyrion points out sarcastically. “And you are still on speaking terms with the man who murdered your father. Who’s the truly evil brother here?” 

Letting the question hang in the silence of the chambers, knowing neither of them is never going to have an answer for it, Tyrion finishes his cup of wine and leaves the chair for a refill. 

“Anyway, I’m not going to be on the Queen’s service for much longer now. She wanted to break the wheel and she’s done exactly that. I don’t know this new world, henceforth I’m no longer useful to her,” he explains slowly, leaning on the table. “As soon as things are settled, she’ll relieve me from my duties--counting that, should another war break out in the future, I take back my title and stand by her side for as long as she needs me.” 

“Is your Queen planning on annihilating the whole world any time soon?” 

“You never know who might oppose her,” says Tyrion, shrugging. 

He returns to his seat, taking a brief stop to his traveling bag forgotten by the bed, and meeting Jaime carrying a small bag and a parchment. He throws the two items on Jaime’s lap--a bag full of coins, judging by the clinking sounds, and the parchment sealed with the Targaryen stamp. 

“What the hell is this?” demands Jaime. 

“A royal pardon.” 

“Royal pardon for _what_?” 

“Queen Daenerys is releasing you from your duties as Lord Commander as well,” Tyrion explains, “in compensation for your services rendered during the Great War. Because of that, she’s granted you an alimony for life to settle wherever you may desire in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“A bribe to ensure I don’t rebel against my Queen either,” Jaime translates. 

“Of course,” nods Tyrion, raising his cup of wine in a toast. 

With a roll of eyes, Jaime throws the parchment, unopened, onto the fire. The two brothers watch the paper and the wax combust and then, in a matter of seconds, turn into ashes. They both know the words and the promise--the bribe--won’t disappear so easily. 

“Aren’t you going to do the same with that too?” Tyrion asks then, pointing at the bag of gold. 

“I’m guessing we’re going to need it,” replies Jaime. “We’re only a remnant of what House Lannister used to be. We don’t shit gold and we don’t own any gold mines any longer--our name is meaningless.” 

“Father would be so proud,” chuckles Tyrion, sipping a bit more of his wine. “We’re going to have to change our family’s motto as well. We’re not going to be able to pay every debt we owe from now on.” 

“How about, ‘Just forget about us and let us fucking live a peaceful life’? Or would that be too dishonorable to father?” 

At Jaime’s suggestion, the two brothers burst out laughing. After some seconds, when their roar of laughter subsides, Tyrion leaves his chair again to pour a cup of wine for Jaime. He accepts it this time and takes a big drink, surprised by the gesture when Tyrion settles in the spare chair again. 

“You’re not talking about suicide anymore,” he says. “My work here is done. Now, drink--and then bathe and shave for tonight’s feast in my honor.” 

For the next couple of hours, they do just that: drink. They’re all alone for the most part of the afternoon, except for a little while when Podrick comes to greet his former Lord and joins them for a drink at Tyrion’s insistence. 

Afterwards, when Jaime does take a bath and shaves, he stands just like the one Sir Jaime who just a few weeks prior fought in the Great War, dressed in armor and his dark cloak and black beard. Only thing is--he can only look at his feet, without daring to look at anyone in the eye. 

“Oh, chin up, will you,” scowls Tyrion as they step into the dining hall. “You’ll get _me_ depressed. You committed no crime--you’re no dwarf. You just loved your sister and your Queen. They can understand that.” 

“I--” 

“You fought side by side with these men, saved quite a few of their lives--no one will sneer or laugh at you. Besides, you’ve had people talking behind your back all your life, what’s so different now?” 

“I’m no Stark.” 

“Oh, please. You’re under Sir Brienne’s protection, henceforth under Lady Sansa’s, so you should be fine. Unless you throw another boy off a tower window and cripple him for life, of course.” 

“Could you _please_ lower your voice when you say stuff like that?” shrieks Jaime, stopping in front of Tyrion glaringly. He looks around, hoping no one heard his little brother, but every man and woman is too busy gobbling down their food. 

“Ah, there’s my seat,” says Tyrion, pointing at the front table. “I’ll see you later, dear brother. I _do_ hope you make it through dinner.” 

With that, he leaves Jaime all alone, a bit breathless and flabbergasted yet--but that’s not a first where Tyrion’s concerned. Trying not to lock eyes with anyone, Jaime looks around, and to his surprise, sees that the seat besides Brienne is still empty. He crosses the dining hall and sits by her side, to her right. 

“Sir Brienne.” 

“Sir Jaime,” nods she. 

He makes a signal for a girl to fill his cup of wine, but he resists the temptation of drinking just yet--Brienne’s sticking with water, after all. 

“I feel compelled to apologize for my behavior these past weeks,” he starts off. 

“Apologies accepted.” 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away. It was wrong. I was in mourning and felt responsible for my sister’s death, but I mistreated you in unspeakable ways, again, and I can only beg the Forgotten Gods for compassion and pity--” 

“What feels wrong is you saying all these things,” explodes Brienne, but finally she turns to look at him in the eye, which is certainly a win. 

“ _Wrong?_ I’m apologizing here!” 

“Well, you can stop it now!” 

“ _Fine!_ Next time I do something awry I won’t bother making amends! You happy now?” 

“How can you be so _stupid_? You can take as much time and space as you need to--I know losing your sister was hard on you. Just, don’t you leave me, you hear me?” 

“I won’t,” he says, lowering his voice, making a promise now. He rests his hand on hers and she stops to catch her breath too. They both realize arguing comes as second nature to them by now, but they’re not solving much by bickering and insulting each other. “I’m not going to leave you. I told you that already.” 

At that, Brienne nods and looks down on their entwined hands. Jaime removes his hand to let her keep eating and he swallows down the embarrassment with a sip of wine. After a few seconds, Jaime leans forward once more. 

“Brienne, I would like your permission to return to our chambers tonight,” he whispers. His voice, the smug on his tone, their arms touching--Brienne knows fully well what he’s asking. She manages to keep a straight face for the sake of appearances and keeps on eating, but the colors do raise to her face. 

“I think it’d best if we just started by sparring tomorrow morning,” she manages to utter. 

“Dawn, training grounds. I’ll be there,” nods Jaime, leaning back on his chair, putting a respectable distance between his body and Brienne’s. No one has noticed anything in their exchange--not even Podrick, in front of them. He’s probably just happy to see Jaime out of the chambers and on speaking terms with Brienne. 

Needless to say, in just under a few hours Jaime’s knocking on Brienne’s chambers with two cups and a jar of wine, to be welcomed in with a warm kiss, and next thing he knows he’s on Brienne’s bed again. And they’re chuckling like idiots because of their adolescent rush to take each other’s clothes and enjoy each other’s warm, electrifying, touch. 

After long minutes of deep kisses and fondling every inch of each other’s body, Jaime stops for a second, leaning to be eye-level with Brienne, gasping. Just like he did on their second night together, the second night after the Battle of Winterfell, he takes a few seconds to drink it all in--Brienne, her caring, his awe and admiration, his good hand caressing her cheek and forcing her not to look away in embarrassment, as he knew she would. Taking the time to savor it all because they do have that luxury. They have the rest of their lives up here in the North.


	4. Chapter 4

“There she is,” Brienne points out as soon as Lady Sansa steps outside the throne room, where the meeting with high Lords and soldiers and common folk was held. They’ve just ended the usual audiences he once was forced to sit through back at King’s Landing. The experience of it all should have given him some advantage and preparation for what’s to come, but if he’s completely honest, he’s awestruck. 

“Yes, I see her,” nods Jaime. “You know, I lost a hand, not my eyes.” 

“Wait, you lost a _hand?_ ” shrieks Tyrion, by his left, his usual dramatic voice. “When did that happen? How did it happen?“

“You tell me who did it and I’ll avenge your beautiful hand.” 

“Stop it, you both,” scowls Jamie. 

“Not until you go speak with her.” 

Only because he simply cannot stand the banter and bickering from his brother and Brienne, Jamie sighs deeply and steps forward, passing by soldiers, stewards, commonfolk and other Lords. Lady Sansa sees him approaching from afar with that inexpressive face of hers and looks down on him as he bends by the waist. Aray looks slightly amused at his advance, whereas Bran doesn’t react at all--perhaps he already knows how this conversation will unfold. 

“Your Grace. I was hoping I could ask an audience whenever it’d most suit you.”

“Alright. Come on in, Sir Jaime,” Lady Sansa nods, pointing at the throne room at her back, an answer that leaves Jamie shocked and startled. He doesn’t move, even though a soldier opens the door to the room. “You just asked for an audience with me, is now a bad time for you?” 

“No, my Lady,” he hurries to say, following her into the throne room. Behind him, other Lords, soldiers and stewards file in too, as well as Arya and Bran, all of them taking their usual places around the room. At the back of the chambers stand Brienne and Tyrion, the only two people who give him strength to carry on. Starting with the most basic and simple formalities. “Thank you for granting me this audience, my Lady.” 

“What is it that you want, Sir Jamie?” 

The question isn’t so unexpected or difficult, still Jaime takes some seconds to look around and collect himself. Only Brienne’s presence there in the back helps him gather his thoughts--she’s standing with him just like she did on his trial. 

“Something I should have done long ago, Your Grace,” he says, kneeling on the cold stone ground. The next words just come out all after the other. It is an oath he knows by heart, even though he made that vow a long time ago--there are things one can never truly forget, not in a million years. Not in another existence. “Under the grace of House Stark, I, Sir Jaime Lannister, hereby swear on my honor and my allegiance to protect the Queen, the King and their families. I will do my duties until death, and through that time, keep all secrets of the Queen safe from spread. I will not speak unless spoken to, and I will defend the Queen's land or pay the price. I will master the gate, pluck the bow, handle the blade and serve my realm: for now and forever.” 

He’s deliberately skipped the “I will wed no wife, sire no children and hold no land”, because, honestly, if the Queen accepts him bending the knee, he will do those three things sooner rather than later--and anyhow, the amount of people here who know the Kingsguard Oath can be counted with one hand. After long deliberation with Brienne and Tyrion, when he’d accepted he couldn’t linger on this one duty any longer, he decided to use a modified version of the Kingsguard Oath instead of merely swearing his allegiance to Queen Sansa and the North--if everyone’s always going to see and judge him for who he once was, why deny it now of all times? 

There's some uncomfortable shifting amongst the soldiers and Lords, people clearing their throats in an attempt not to insult or physically attack him, but Jamie’s only concerned for the reaction of one person--well, three people, actually. After some seconds, he looks up at Sansa, her face unreadable, and swallows with difficulty. 

“If you’ll have me,” he adds, uncertain now, his voice quivering just a bit. “I know you’ve no reason to trust the word of a Lannister, and you’d be in your perfect right to throw me out of your kingdom--”

“No Lannister will ever be well received at Winterfell anymore,” scowls one of the soldiers at the back, the exact response Jaime had expected to hear--but the footman is abrupty cut short by someone else, to Jaime’s great surprise. He tries not to show any of these emotions and doesn’t look away from Sansa’s eyes as he makes his plea:

“I’m just asking you to reconsider.” 

“We deliberated your fate once before,” says Lady Sansa. “What sort of ruler would I be if we held two trials for the same man, granting him freedom when he was useful, condemning him once he was not?” 

“Some would say that’s justice, my Lady,” reckons Jaime, word that make him hold his breath for a beat or two. That’s what justice would have been at King’s Landing, sure, but why bring it up now? 

“You’re right,” says Lady Sansa. “That’s how things worked. But we need to learn from our mistakes--and be better than our parents. On the other hand,” she adds, suddenly a softer and amused tone, “am I right to assume it’d be pointless to banish you from my Kingdom, because you'd stay in the North either way?” 

“Or perhaps we’d be losing the best soldier who’s ever joined the northern ranks if we sent you away?” suggests Arya, a knowing smirk on her face as she addresses Brienne. 

This time Jaime can literally sense Brienne blushing and he smiles, his head dropped so no one, Lady Sansa or Brienne, can see it. But he is certain the set of hesitant and embarrassed footsteps he hears are from Brienne, hiding amongst the shadows from the eyes of all the Lords and soldiers. 

For her sake, Jaime remains quiet, allowing Lady Sansa and every one else to get their own opinions--rumors will start whatever he does. 

“Very well, then. You are free to stay here, Sir Jaime. Winterfell welcomes you as well as Sir Brienne.”

At those words he can finally breathe again. He bows his head in acceptance and respect before rising, seeing the beaming faces of Tyrion and Brienne at the back of the throne room and blatantly ignoring the glares, disdainfulness and groans he hears from varying soldiers and stewards up and down the throne room. However, the weight of his sword reminds him of something else he needs to take care of. He turns again and clears his throat, the conversations dying out slowly. 

“One more thing, if you’ll allow me, Your Grace,” he begs. 

“What is it now?”

Instead of giving a verbal response, Jamie draws his sword. From the corner of the room two soldiers step closer, one drawing his sword as well, the other firmly holding the hilt, waiting for the order from their Queen to strike and finally get the world rid of the Lannister plague. Arya, on the other hand, hasn’t moved from her spot, her hands clasped behind her back--as certain as Jaime that, if he tried to launch against Lady Sansa, she’d be fast enough to dive her Needle through his chest. As per Lady Sansa, her expression has remained unchanged as she contemplates the sword that Jamie presents her with. 

“I’m not about to kill the Queen right after I pledged my allegiance to the North,” he scowls, looking at the two soldiers above Sansa’s shoulders. That does make Lady Sansa and Arya smile--and that makes the two soldiers relax an take a step backwards, their hands on their swords still. 

With ever so slow moves, Jamie presents his sword at Sansa’s feet, holding it with his left hand and laying it flat on his gloved golden hand--the same way he once showed Brienne Oathkeeper, this sword’s brother. 

“I don’t suppose you remember this blade.” 

“It was Joffrey’s,” Sansa says without hesitation, against all odds. “I remember it well. A wedding gift from his grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister.” 

“Perhaps you don’t know its origin,” says Jaime, moving on from the surprise of Lady Sansa remembering the blade. He takes a silent deep breath and then just lets it all out, hoping to get the message across before Sansa orders her men to kill him. “After your father, Lord Eddard Stark, was killed, his sword was melted and two smaller, twin swords were forged from that Valyrian steel. This is one of them. As you may know, sir Brienne of Tarth owns the other sword--Oathkeeper is its name. I thought you’d like to have it back into your family.”

Silent remains for such a long time that Jamie, in the end, can’t help but look up at her as he awaits the verdict. There’s only the flicker of tension in her jaw, otherwise it’s impossible to read her face, her thoughts, her intentions. Holding his breath, Jamie doesn’t budge nor tries to make excuses for his behavior or the tribulations of this sword. The past is the past and it’ll never change. 

“Thank you for bringing it back. You may keep your sword,” she says in the end. 

He’s startled. “I thought that perhaps your sister, or Lord Snow. . .” 

“I manage well with my own sword,” promises Arya, confident and proud voice. 

“Yes, I’ve seen how lethal you can be with that blade of yours,” nods Jaime, the brief hint of a smile on his lips--he’s always known to appreciate and admire a good fighter, to the point of knowing he’ll never be able to fight Arya Stark and live to tell the tale. In appreciation for his genuine admiration, Arya smiles proudly and bows her head. 

“And my brother, Lord Snow, is equally satisfied with his own sword. You may keep this one, sir Jamie. I do not want a blade who belonged to the man who killed my father in this family.” 

Taking one step backwards, Jamie puts away his sword. At that, those two soldiers retreat to the dark corners as well. Lady Sansa smiles at Jamie’s relief. 

“You seem surprised,” she remarks. “Did you think we’d execute you for what happened to the original owner of the blade?” 

“They were tempestuous times, Your Grace, but I could understand if you still held a grudge against me for my actions. I’ve given you no reason to trust me.” 

“You’re right,” she confirms straight out. “I _do_ hate the Lannister’s name. Most people here do. But we must hope things will be different in the future, now that Queen Daenerys has broken the wheel and turned our whole world upside down. I trust in our allegiance, because you _have_ given us _one_ reason to trust you, sir Jaime: you fought with us in the Great War against the dead. To my eyes, and to the eyes of the North, your debt has been payed in full, sir Jamie.

“Of course, if you betray my House again, I’ll have you beheaded with that same sword.” 

Strange as it may be, Jamie flashes a twisted smile. 

“Seems only fitting, Your Grace,” he nods respectfully. Lady Sansa’s smile hasn’t wavered at all--they are enjoying the exchange of threats. 

“Well, then, the North accepts your allegiance and your staying here. And, if I may, in a more personal note, I wish your life here in Winterfell does bring happiness to you and Brienne.” 

Jaime bows his head again, unable to utter such simple words as a ‘thank you’. Brienne, who could it be but her, crosses the room out of duty and stands by Jamie’s side, not too close--but propriety can be damned now, really. 

“Thank you, Lady Sansa.” 

With a smile, the Queen bows at them--marking the end of the audience and dismissing the couple at the same time. As people start filing out of the room, Brienne and Jaime just stand there, unmoving, looking into each other’s eyes, slightly embarrassed. They knew they hadn’t been entirely secretive since the Battle of Winterfell, what with sharing her chambers, sparring every day and what not, but had no idea they’d been so obvious to everyone. 

After a couple minutes they’re the only ones remaining in the throne room--except for Tyrion and a few soldiers standing guard, that is. A mocking nonchalant disposition, Tyrion approaches slowly, whistling a tune. Jamie’s still a bit shaken after the audience, but trust Tyrion to loose the atmosphere with one of his snide comments. 

“Well, I think it went great,” he sighs. “She threatened you, you accepted it with grace. . .” 

“Thank you for summing it up--I was there, you know.” 

“At least you didn’t lose your other hand,” Brienne remarks. 

“Or your big golden head,” adds Tyrion. 

“Not so golden anymore,” scowls Jaime, looking sideways at Brienne--if someone should feel disappointed that he’s no longer the beautiful Golden Lion he used to be, it’s her. Then again, she’s proven time and time again she’s not like all the other women he’s met in his life. 

“Well, now that Her Majesty has allowed you staying up here North, you can bloody start on climbing mountains.” 

“Tyrion,” scowls Jaime, seeing the flustered look on Brienne’s face, blushing and looking down at her feet. 

“What? Now that you’re finally dating a more than honorable and just Lady--I beg your pardon, a Knight now. . .” 

“Stop it,” Jaime begs his brother--torn between defending Brienne, who’s more than able of doing that by herself, and bursting out laughing because of all the not-so-subtle snide comments his brother’s done in the past minute. 

“Now that you’re dating, out in the open, an honorable and just Knight instead of having an incestuous relationship with your own sister, I can’t talk about it? That’s unfair. I’ve been waiting my whole life to joke about your sex life. It wasn’t truly decorous before, what with you sleeping with Cersei.” 

“Lord Tyrion--” begs Brienne, flustered and blushing. 

“No Lords,” he interjects, waving the title with his hand, looking at her smugly. “Just Tyrion, please.” 

“I would beg you to watch your language considering where we are or--” 

“Don’t waste your breath,” Jaime stops her. No place or person has ever held such importance to Tyrion’s eyes that he should watch his language or his drinking, for that matter. And the proves it instantly. 

“My dear Brienne, you’ll get used to my humor if we’re to be family. Now, I know where I’ll find the two of you if I needed you. You also know where you can find me, so I'll see you later. Much, much later.” 

“The Queen expects you for dinner!” Brienne says as Tyrion’s getting farther and farther away. 

“How many more of those am I supposed to attend?” he yells over his shoulder. 

As Tyrion leaves the throne room, greeting formally the two soldiers standing guard, Jaime, at ease now, smiles at his brother's back. He’s certain Tyrion is headed for the whorehouse, but other than that, he’s amazed at how his brother managed to so easily ease his worries and shock Brienne in the same conversation. 

“He grows on you,” he promises softly at her. She looks nowhere but certain.


	5. Chapter 5

No more hiding. 

No more rushed intimacy behind closed doors, no more looking the other way whenever pretentious contenders met Cersei with luscious eyes, hungry for power and beauty. No more wandering looks full of desire and meaning across the room, no stolen glances above her disgusting husband of hers, no more staying at the other side of the room where his children slept, unable to step inside and cradle them even if they started bawling in the middle of the night. 

All that’s long gone now. He’d never known true happiness, true love, not until now, when he thought he was undeserving of it. He can hold his head held high walking through Winterfell without fearing the rumors about his love life, because he’s just so deeply and unconditionally proud of Brienne. He can share the bed of the woman he loves and take a whole night of undiluted pleasure making love to her, without any rush in the world, sometimes making her late for breakfast and first practice with the recruits. Whenever he and Brienne pass by on the corridors he’s able to stop her, pull her against the wall and kiss her--and he barely misses the chance to do so. No more avoiding public places. 

In one word: no more secrets. There’s nothing to hide now, no fear to have their children stoned to death if anyone knew he had fathered Cersei’s offspring. It’s all out in the public, and he couldn’t be happier--everyone can tell by the almost permanent smile on his face, by the way he moves, talks and walks around the Castle of Winterfell, the way his eyes light up whenever Brienne steps into the room, the energetic manners they turn in every night. If love can change people, he’s the living proof of that. 

Life moves on, and everyone needs to move on with it as well. Jaime finds happiness in waking up every morning in Brienne’s arms, training a couple hours a day with the soldiers--getting better, day after day, but he’ll never be as great as he used to be--studying a bit with Tyrion to learn the geography and demographics of the land, and drinking with his brother and brothers-in-arms in front of the fire. Brienne finds happiness in her position of the Queen’s guard, in training the soldiers, in protecting the North, in bonding with the Stark family and soldiers, in sharing meals with Podrick, Tyrion and the Stark girls; in bedding Jaime every night. Never in their lives had they thought they’d end up like this, here in the North, or living a satisfying, proud, happy life. They still are, however. 

Part of Jamie’s tasks include guard duty, which he accepted graciously when Brienne offered so, even if it involves freezing his ass off patrolling the Castle once a fortnight. In the darkness of the dead night of winter and the cold blizzard, broken by the seldom torches from the courtyard, it’s hard to pinpoint a menace against the Kingdom when not too long ago they fought off wights and dead people, nearly impossible to kill. 

He stops at a fire by the South Gate with Gifford and Rowland to warm his hands, although he doesn’t hesitate when they offer him a canteen of wine. One long sip later, he can feel warmth spread through his body, giving him strength to face the rest of the night. They part without sharing more than half a dozen words--sufficient, amongst soldiers. 

Following a random path more than any outlined guard plan, Jaime climbs onto the battlements, shivering against the freaking cold breeze. Perhaps he should try to manipulate Brienne--in ways only he can do--into not giving him any more guard duties at night. Or ever again, if all possible. But alas, he knows how that conversation will unfold. They might make love, but Brienne will never yield. 

“Sir Brienne,” he hears, a formal and yet tired voice, to his right. 

Trying to shrug the exhaustion off his eyes and body, Jaime stands straight, holding to the battlement, as Brienne ventures out into the blizzard. Out of formality Jaime waits for the soldier--Tobyn, was it?--to disappear before taking off his coat. 

“Why would you get out of bed voluntarily in a night like this,” he scowls, handing Brienne the cloak, too small for her figure. 

To his astonishment, she pushes it away, a stern and forlorn look on her eyes. “I’m not sure.” 

Jaime holds her gaze, with that awed look of his, mouth half-open, as he needs some seconds to understand Brienne’s reasons--however stupid they are. He takes one step nearer her, now almost close enough to feel her breath on his face. 

“Are you here for _this_?” he asks, smug, grabbing her chin with his good hand. She pulls her down for a kiss and she needs whole five seconds before she manages to push him away--only making him chuckle more. 

“I just forgot you were on guard duty tonight,” she confesses. 

Breathless for a second, Jaime nods silently. He understands now. She went looking for him down at the stables and then saw him up there, patrolling. Probably recognized him by the golden glimmer on his side and the sword hanging from the right side of his waist. 

He takes Brienne backwards, catching her off guard for the first time in her life, and drags her back to the tower she came out from. A torch breaks the darkness and privacy they had out there in the battlements, making strange and dancing figures on the wall, their faces and their eyes. But the thing is, now they’re safely hidden from any passerby soldiers. He pushes Brienne against the wall and retains her--under her own volition--up there. 

“I know I’ll never rid you from those nightmares,” he whispers apologetically, genuine. “But if you need me to, I’ll say this promise a hundred thousand times every day--I’m not leaving you. Never. I’m never leaving your side. There’s nothing in this world that I ever wanted more. This, for the first time in my life, feels right--” 

“Will you shut up and--” 

He was just waiting for Brienne to get fed up with his speech, so he could seize the chance to cut her short with a deep kiss, laughing against her lips. She pulls him in, their bodies as close and tight as possible through the thick layers of clothing. 

In the end they pull away to catch their breath--their surroundings as pitch black as earlier, since both of them need some long seconds to collect themselves before they open their eyes. Then, they cannot shift their gazes from each other, her panting a bit, him waiting for an order: whether it is to resume his duties and leave Brienne or accompany her back to their chambers. He will do whatever she commands him to, but he’d give all his possessions and money for the second choice. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have any other night shifts,” Brienne manages to utter between breaths, holding tightly, almost painfully, onto his shoulders. She leans forward, surrounding his shoulders with her arms, hiding because of the confession. 

“I better fucking not,” says Jaime in a breathless chuckle, before stands on tiptoes for a second kiss. 

“That’s selfish and plain favoritism,” she replies. 

“Then _be so_ ,” he begs, and not only because he doesn’t want to freeze her ass off out there on guard duty. He’s got other needs right now--and Brienne does too. She’s trying to hold it in as best as she can, her eyes closed, holding her breath, but she doesn’t release Jaime, and he seizes that tiny little advantage. He tilts his head, the beard grazing her cheek and the side of her neck, and taunts her with his lips, giving her dozens of soft, quick pecks. No longer cold, he’s got other ideas in mind now. “Be selfish. Show favoritism. Just once in your life. Don’t you want this?” 

He moves onto the other side of her neck and face, leaving a trail of kisses on her neck, shoulders, cheek, ear and temple--avoiding her mouth on purpose. Her answer to his plea and his question is obvious for her moans, the way she holds Jaime as close as possible, almost painfully, as ahe tries to swallow her moans. 

At some point she grabs his hands, a few seconds after they’d started to wander off Brienne’s whole body, taking Jaime’s own coat off her shoulders first and then looking for the rest of her clothes. 

“Come,” she says. 

“Your wish is my command,” whispers Jaime against her ear, a smug smile on his lips that he does well to erase before he takes a step away from Brienne. Giving themselves time to cool down, for once in their lives thanking the cold breeze from the North, he grabs his coat from the floor and hangs it from his arm--doesn’t really need it anymore. 

Holding hands, they set off, barely believing they need to walk through the whole damn Castle to reach their chambers. But they don’t exactly make it there until much later, they simply can’t stand it. If a soldier, a steward, any Lords or any of the Stark House family were to step outside tonight, they might be lucky enough--or unlucky--to find Jaime and Brienne pinned up against a wall every few minutes, kissing, caressing their bodies and being more intimate in the open than anyone except them would find appropriate and comfortable. If asked, they’d promise they’re _really_ trying to make it to their chambers, they’re just failing miserably.


	6. Chapter 6

He’s jolt awaken by a sudden movement to his right, a tugging on the blankets leaving him exposed to the freaking cold of winter. He scowls, covering his eyes with his good hand, but all his complaints vanish as soon as he hears the sounds of Brienne throwing up and a nauseating smell filling the room--again. 

He leans on his elbow, closer to Brienne, concerned. It seems the essence of Nightshade the Maester gave her has been useless. 

He caresses her back soothingly, concerned, waiting for the nausea to subside. He always sleeps on the right side of the bed so he can just stretch out his good hand and reach out to her--even in his sleep. Tonight, however, it barely brings her any comfort or solace. 

At long last she lies again on her back, her hand covering her mouth, without uttering a word about the incident. He throws the thick blankets over her naked body, pondering briefly if he should light the fire again--but he doesn’t want to leave her side, not just yet, after another episode. Instead, he stays there, lying side by side, caressing her hand. He remains silent, giving her some minutes to catch her breath and make sure the nausea has subsided for good before he speaks the words he knows will definitely upset her again. 

“When was the last time you bled?” 

He knows the signs--Cersei was never one to keep quiet about the pains and struggles of being pregnant. After she’d had Tommenand Cersei was struggling again with morning sickness and sore feet, Jaime was the first one to wonder if she couldn’t be pregnant again and a couple days after the Maester had confirmed his suspicions. Cersei delivered the new by barging into his chambers that night and kissing him deeply--they were going to have another baby. They rooted for it to be girl and it was--Myrcella, almost as beautiful as her mother was. 

But now, Brienne doesn’t even look pleased at the suggestion. She tenses at his touch, looking over her shoulder to glare at him with pure hatred--he remembers that look well, she used to look at him like that twenty-four hours a day on their journey back to King’s Landing, along with sneer comments and insults, most of them concerning his title as Kingslayer. Now, those memories brought up with that look only bring an untimely smile to his lips. 

“Don’t make such a fuss,” he begs, slightly amused. 

For a second she seems willing to make a big deal out of his question, but him asking in the intimacy of their chambers does make her see he wasn’t trying to embarrass or humiliate her--just concerned. 

“So?” he presses.

“I don’t remember exactly,” she confesses. 

He nods respectfully--he’d expected that answer. He gives her time to figure out his next question. “Do you think you might be--?” 

“No!” she shrieks, shocked and outraged. 

“No, as in it’s not possible because we’ve been celibate these past months?” 

“I--I can’t. I know nothing of rearing children. . .” 

“Seldom people do, before they become parents,” replies Jaime. He kisses Brienne on the shoulder and leaves the bed to first throw another log onto the almost extinct fire and, next, pour a cup of cold water. Pushing away the bucket, he kneels by the bedside--what with their height difference, he almost needs to break his neck to look at her in the eye--and offers Brienne the cup, still holding it between her hands in case she were to drop it. “Would it really be so bad?”

She’s at a loss for words for some seconds. He smiles softly. 

“You don’t need to be so scared and shocked. It’s only natural.”

“I’m not going to do this right,” she says sullen. “I’ve seen the world. Heartless parents beating their children, or not feeding them, or forgetting all about them--” 

“Hey,” he stops her ranting, gently pushing her chin with his right stump. After a second, she looks at him, and he sees pure fear in her eyes. How can she even think she’d make a bad mother, he cannot understand--she’s been an amazing role model for Podrick, Lady Sansa and even Arya. Any children would be lucky to have her as a mother. “You’re not like that. You’re the most honorable knight I’ve ever met. Our children will become the most fair and just people in the world thanks to their mother.”  

“And to their father, too,” she adds. 

That remark does make him uncomfortable and he has to swallow back a sob. He’s done so poorly with his first children. Knowing they’d be stone to death if anyone knew he was the father to Joffrey, Myrcella or Tommen, he had to keep his distance from them all. And there’s also the fact that he couldn't prevent neither of their deaths in spite of that being his primary duty--he doubts he could ever be a proper role model, even if he didn’t need to keep his fatherhood a secret. 

“Let’s pay a visit to the Maester first thing in the morning,” he replies without giving any answer to her. “For now, try to get some more sleep.”

He gently pulls her head against the soft pillow again. He doubts either one of them is going to get any more sleep, but it’s going to be some hours still until the Maester wakes up, and there’s really no reason to bring forward such a meeting--Brienne will need the extra hours to assess the idea.


	7. Chapter 7

_‘Just give me until tomorrow.’_

The arbitrary time frame crashed Jaime’s spirits, albeit nothing or no one could possibly erase the big smile on his face today. He couldn’t stop crying after the Maester confirmed the diagnosis, and he spent minutes on end kissing her, the Maester be damned, letting her savor the pride, joy and tears on his lips. 

She knew he couldn’t keep quiet for long. However, as excited as he is, she’s got reservations. Not about Jaime, Goodness her--a bit late for that--but rather the whole raising children. She never thought her life would turn out like that. All she wanted was to serve Lords and Ladys who deserved so, and her biggest desire was to become a Knight. She never considered having a family and raising children. 

And so, she asked, begged really, for him to be patient for just one day. 

Hoping against hope no one would be there, she knocks on the door and is granted access right away. Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are having breakfast as usual, and sleep in their eyes, they welcome Brienne in. They invited her to join them whenever she wanted, and she did on a few occasions, but never too frequently. She didn’t want to intrude, this is their private family time after all, and well, there was Jaime as well. He usually keeps her up until late at night, and when they wake up sometimes they’re late for morning training, let alone breakfast. None of the girls seem to mind her stepping in after so many fortnights and smile warmly at Brienne. 

Formally, she stands by the end of the table, her throat dry, holding onto Oathkeeper. How do people get through this announcement?

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, good morning.” Formalities, per usual, save her, granting her scraping a few more seconds, as she bows her head at each of them and they answer accordingly. “I’ve. . . I’ve got news. . .”

Albeit their obvious lack of experience on that regard, as it so happens, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya were the first people Brienne wanted to tell. So far away from home, after all the three have endured, after the vow she made to their mother, they share a special bond. Not quite like family, but close enough, and then again, who is she to label it, when it took her years and various near-death experiences to understand she was in love with Jaime and that the man reciprocated her feelings? 

“Is it war?” demands Lady Sansa immediately, leaning forward. 

“No, my Lady, it isn’t--”

“Nightwalkers?” presses Arya. 

“No, that’s not it either. . .”

Brienne looks down at her feet, annoyed at herself, her nervousness and her stutter. She’s only bringing them discomfort, thinking of the worst possibilities, scaring them when they should be in peace. 

When they returned to their chambers after visiting the Maester, Jaime had her sitting down on a chair as he lit the fire, and then he knelt before her, caressing her stomach with both his hand and his stump, and then spent every minute till sun rose kissing her stomach. Brienne could hear his rasped voice whispering ‘I love you’ time and time again, tickling her skin, and Brienne couldn’t believe he could already love the child growing in her. Whereas she’s still trying to wrap her head around the idea. 

“The thing is. . . I’m. . . I am. . .”

“Sir Brienne?” asks Lady Sansa, her hands clasped over the table in anxiety. They’ve seen her nervous, but never that much, and it makes them more nervous. 

“I’m with a child,” Brienne finally blurts out. 

The previous terror and shock remain in Lady Sansa and Arya’s faces for a full five seconds before her words finally make some sort of sense in their heads. 

“That is wonderful news,” says Lady Sansa, smiling broadly again, leaning back on her chair. “Are you sure?”

“The Maester confirmed the diagnosis this morning, my Lady,” Brienne nods. Actually, the Maester confirmed Jaime’s suspicions, that is all. 

“You shouldn’t be standing, then.”

“I’m alright, my Lady--” In spite of Brienne’s feeble complaints, Lady Sansa waves her hand at a steward, who brings a spare chair for her and Brienne can do nothing but accept it and sit down by Lady Sansa’s left side. 

“And you’re also going to need a healthy and plentiful breakfast,” adds Lady Sansa, addressing a meaningful look at the steward, who leaves before Brienne can stop her. 

“I’m guessing it is too late to get rid of sir Jaime without leaving a corpse or any evidence behind, then,” guesses Arya. 

“We’ve talked about this,” complains Lady Sansa, tired voice, sending her sister a stern look and a roll of eyes. “Sir Jaime is now under the protection of Winterfell.”

“Please, don’t, my Lady,” Brienne begs of Arya, the hint of a smile on her lips for the first time today, knowing she was mostly joking. Brienne’s having second thoughts about this baby already, she doesn’t know what she’d do if she had to raise that child all by herself. 

“He’s proven worthy of our trust,” nods Lady Sansa, reservations still clear as day in her eyes. “Albeit, if you remember, sir Brienne, there were other contenders.” 

“Yes, you told me as much, your Grace, but. . . We do not choose who to love, don’t we?” Brienne asks rhetorically, mirroring the words he once said to her, as the steward returns with a dish full to the brim she’ll never be able to finish. Even if she didn’t have a knot in her stomach. “Plus, it’s not him I’m worried about.”

“What worries you then, sir Brienne?” asks Arya. 

Brienne freezes, her hand hanging mid-air as she was grabbing a slice of bread. She certainly shouldn’t burden them any longer with her own concerns and hardships. However, Lady Sansa only needs one good look at her in the eye to understand her worries. 

“You cannot possibly fear raising children,” she says, almost an accusation. 

“I do fear motherhood, my Lady,” confesses Brienne, without feeling the need to hide or lie to them now. “Jaime has had experience raising three children--”

“He raised no one,” Arya scowls. “If he had, at least one of his three children would still be alive today.” 

“He’s had approximately the same experience you've had, and still we know you’re going to be a better parent he’ll never dream to be,” adds Lady Sansa, taking a sip of her wine. “Look at Podrick, at me and Arya, for instance.”

Unable to keep staring directly at them, feeling a blush raising from her chest to her neck and face, Brienne drops her gaze. Playing with the napkin under the table, very similar words uttered hours earlier by Jaime ring in her ears. That with her as their mother, their children--the plural did scare her a bit more--would only grow to be fair, just, honorable, kind, relentless, protective, and a long string of qualities she barely remembers. 

How come everyone has such confidence in her, except herself? 

“And you also did a number on Jaime Lannister himself,” adds Arya Stark. “If he were still the Golden Lion or the Kinglsayer we once met, he wouldn’t have survived more than five seconds here at Winterfell. And I’m pretty sure his change of mind, or heart, had nothing to do with his hateful sister.”

Everyone seems to believe Brienne changed Jaime and, even if them meeting might have been a trigger, it was Jaime, in the end, who showed the capability of remorse and changing, and everyone seems to fail to see that. On the other hand, they too fail to understand how much has Jaime given her. The confidence that she’s as good as any other knight in the Seven Kingdoms. He’s seen her beauty, and she’s felt loved and cherised under his stare and caresses, and the way he made love to her. He’s given her vows of love she stopped believing in ages ago. He’s shown her a beautiful life beyond duty. He’s shown and given her pleasure she’d never dreamed of nor experienced. 

Realizing she was lost in thought--and pleasant reminisces--in front of Lady Sansa and Lady Arya, Brienne blushes a red scarlet again. She takes a sip of the water in her goblet, hoping neither girl can read minds jus yet. She is not such a good motherhood figure. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” she forces herself to utter. 

“Do you need to be relieved from your duties, sir Brienne?” 

“Not at the moment, Your Grace. Thank you,” she replies formally. The Maester did inform her of what symptoms she might suffer from for the next nine months, which did nothing to soothe her nerves, but once again Jaime was there to promise her that it’s going to be alright, and that they’ll cope with everything that comes their way. Until she does feel any of those symptoms, however, she can still perform her sworn duties, as in train the recruits and protect the Queen in the North. 

“Have you thought of any names?” presses Arya. 

Downstairs, Jaime has needed some very long minutes to change and gather strength to leave the chambers. For Brienne has forbidden him to tell everyone he meets about her pregnancy, or to spend the whole day crying about it, and for the sake of his Brinny, he will try his hardest to obey her wishes. That’s the whole reason of his existence and his life up here in the freaking North, and he’ll try not to crumble the very first time she asks him something so important. 

He’s late for breakfast, but perhaps that’s for the best. Maybe the soldiers won’t mind him and just will leave to get on to their duties, he hopes as he finds his usual seat, already missing Brienne’s presence by his side. 

“Morning,” he greets Tyrion. Mercilessly, he grabs Tyrion's goblet, correctly assuming it’d be filled with wine, and takes a sip. It’s going to be a very long day before they can talk about Brienne’s pregnancy out in the open. He’s twitching already. 

“Where’s Brienne?” asks Tyrion, waving at a stewardess for another goblet of wine. “Usually, when marital activities keep you late, you both come down late.” 

“She wanted to meet Lady Sansa and Lady Arya,” Jaime answers without truly looking at his brother, afraid that he’ll read the truth in his eyes. “Wanted to find some sort of decency at the breakfast table for a change.”

“Mmh.” 

Jamie’s head shoots right up, choking on the wine. That’s Tyrion’s inquisitive and thoughtful expression alright. How much does he know already? 

He’s saved to ponder how badly has he screwed up already by Podrick’s arrival to greet them both, and addressing Jaime a strange look when he reports that the soldiers are leaving to start morning training. 

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there,” promises Jaime, a bit stressed out, without meeting Podrick’s eye either. “Sir Brienne will be there shortly as well.” 

“Speaking of,” says Tyrion, pointing at Jamie’s back. 

Looking over his shoulder, Jaime stares at Brienne, who’s just appeared through the side entrance and crosses the Hall towards their usual table. The longer he stares at Brienne, the broader Jamie’s smile grows, unconsciously. She looks a bit more relaxed and relieved after having spoken with Sansa and Arya, and he’s relieved too. These next months will be vey long if she doesn’t learn to trust herself, but if need be, Jaime will spend every hour of every day reminding her of why she doesn’t need to worry at all and why she’ll make the best mother any child in the Seven Kingdoms could ask for. 

Brienne stops by their table and exchanges one look with Jaime, Tyrion and Podrick, to return to Jaime and, unable to hold his eyes and the love and the excitement she sees in them, look at the floor. By then, Tyrion clears his throat and raises his goblet. 

“I hear congratulations are in order.” 

“What?” asks Podrick.

“ _Jaime!_ ” yells Brienne, furious. 

In shock, Jaime drops his goblet and wine spills all over the table, but he could care less about that and raises his hands above his head. “I didn’t say a word, Brienne! _I promise!_ ”

“What is going on?” demands Podrick again. 

“Pod, go to training,” orders Brienne in a deep sigh, closing her eyes. There’s so much he can handle right now and both Lannister brothers at the same time is more than enough. “I’ll see you there in a minute.”

“But what--” 

“Go now,” she presses. 

Surprised by Brienne’s cold order, Podrick looks at Jaime and Tyrion, who don’t answer the riddle either. Given the situation, Podrick obliges Brienne’s command and leaves the half-empty Hall, keeping his head held high until he’s out of sight. 

“See? You’re authoritative and yet he loves and adores you,” says Jaime when Podrick’s out of hearing range. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

“So you are with a child,” says Tyrion. 

“Jaime just told you, hasn’t he?” sighs Brienne, looking at the ceiling and invoking some goddess to help him through the pregnancy. 

“No, I didn’t, Brienne, trust me!” he begs desperate. He was trying his best and didn’t say a single word about it, difficult as it was. 

“He didn’t,” concurs Tyrion, “he just confirmed my suspicions with that comment about Podrick.” 

“Jaime,” sighs Brienne, dropping on the bench. 

“Hey, you look tired,” whispers Jaime, concerned now, grabbing Brienne’s hand under the table. 

“You exhaust me,” she confesses. 

“Perhaps we can skip training, go back to the chambers and I can help you relieve that stress,” suggests Jaime, squeezing Brienne’s hand tenderly. She takes it to his lips and then lays her hand against his chest, his beaming joyful heart, to let her know that what he means will be for her benefit solely. 

As the muscles of her hand relax at Jamie’s caresses, Brienne closes her eyes and exhales, relaxed for the first time since midnight, at least. For a moment, she’s lost. She’s tempted to give in to the cravings and say yes. . . However, she then remembers who she is and where they are. 

“No,” she refuses, taking Jaime's hand and dropping it over the table. “Have you had breakfast?” 

“I’m done,” nods Jaime. 

“Then we’ve got some training to do,” she settles, rising with too much energy. Some dishes and goblets wiggle, without any consequences. 

“You know, at some point you will accept defeat,” Jaime tells her, following Brienne outside. 

“I’ve never lost to you,” Brienne reminds her. 

“I know that,” grants Jaime. “I meant, in a matter of weeks you’re going to prefer spending the morning in bed than training.” 

“In a matter of weeks?” she repeats, spinning around. They’ve stopped in the middle of a corridor, empty at the moment, and Brienne dares to cup Jaime’s cheek in her hands. She can feel herself blush again, but pushes the words out because they’re not embarrassed anymore to confess their true feelings to each other. “Babe, if it’s with you, I always prefer to spend the day in bed rather than training.”

At that, Jaime’s at a loss for words for some seconds. He clears his throat a few times but he's still unable to say anything. Peeking above his shoulder to ascertain they are alone, he pushes Brienne against the stone wall. 

“Then let's just skip training?” he suggests in a whisper. 

His frail hopes make Brienne laugh, that boisterous, joyful laughter of hers that gives their positions away to everyone in Winterfell. 

“Duty prevails, sweetheart.”

“Dammit,” scowls Jaime, truly frustrated with her. “You can’t go around and say stuff like that. . .”

“Can’t I?” she dares. She’s in a much better mood now, even with Tyrion knowing, as she drops her hand to grab Jaime’s arm and drag him outside the Castle. Oh, yes she can. She can manhandle and manipulate and seduce and make fun of him all she wants, for he loves her enough to let her do all of it and still cherish her the next minute. And love her equally as she does so.


	8. Chapter 8

“Three, four. . . Five!! It’s a tie!!” yells Podrick celebrating the goal as if they’d just won the Great War. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” says Tyrion. “Your turn, Jaime, come on.”

He bends and throws the pebble, trying to imitate the hand movement Podrick and Tyrion have spent the past half hour attempting to teach him, but his pebble just sinks into the water, no bouncing. In a deep sigh, Jaime opens his good hand and lets all the other pebbles fall, bouncing and clattering against the rocky beach. 

“Bend a bit more,” Tyrion suggests. “The closer you are to the surface, the--” 

“Tyrion, all due respects, I don’t really care.”

He just looks over his shoulder, not as discreet as he’d hoped, to where Brienne and her father are. Father and daughter have been standing there, without moving, for more than thirty minutes now. Looking now and then at their direction--looking at him, Jaime isn’t stupid enough to delude himself--judging him with stern eyes. He’d give his good hand just to head over there and suffer the conversation with Brienne, supporting her as well as her supporting him throughout the meeting. 

“Whatever happens, happens. You can do little about it, my dear brother.”

Jaime sighs in regret, knowing Tyrion is, per usual, right. Ever since the ship docked into harbor this morning, he’s been looked down, judged upon, insulted behind his back, sneered at and, a blessing really, blatantly ignored by Lords and soldiers. He could care less about any of it all--that’s been his whole life, after all. But he is concerned about the conversation between Brienne and her father, discussing her life, her future husband and, well, him. 

If only there was something he could have done to make things better. Unfortunately, his family name and his forsaken pseudonym carry out and will forever be a burden and baggage for him--and Brienne--whatever he attempts. As loud and clear as his own brother being a dawrf. He’s the Kingslayer, he broke a sacred vow, he was in love with his sister and committed incest repeatedly, fathering three children in secret, two of whom ended being Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, however brief their rulings were. That’s who he is, that’s his history, and as Tyrion pointed out earlier, there’s no point in denying them, because he’ll never be able to change the past. 

Still, the way it influences his choices and possibilities of a brighter future have gotten him quite depressed throughout the morning. 

Twenty feet from him, the Lord of Evenfall Hall watches Jaime with suspicion and just a little bit of hatred, concern in his eyes. By his side, Brienne remains silent, her hands to her back so her father won’t realize how nervous she is, but as ready as ever to fight any other arguments he might come up with. 

“He’s not. . . How I’d pictured him,” he finally says. 

“Seldom people get to know his true self,” Brienne replies. 

“And you did?” 

“Yes, I had the honor of traveling with him for some months as I escorted him back to King's Landing on Lady Catelyn’s orders. In that journey I saw a face of him people rarely see and understand. He saved my life more than once, Father. He’s not what you think he is.” 

“He’s not a _Lannister?_ ” 

Here he goes again, sighs Brienne. Yes, Jaime’s a Lannister, and that seems to be all that people can see when someone brings Jaime or Tyrion up in the conversation. House Lannister. It almost sounds and feels like an insult. Belonging to that House and keeping the family name proud against all these enemies must have been quite a nightmare--she’s getting a glimpse of if now that such name bears no significance whatsoever in Westeros. 

“There’s more to him than meets the eye. He fought with me against the Dead, against his sister’s wishes. That’s got to mean something for you, at the very least. Without him I’d probably be dead.” 

“Without you, he’d be dead ten times over.” 

“We keep saving each other. And that’s probably what we’ll keep doing, if you give us our blessing. Isn’t that what you wished for your only daughter? For me to find someone who cared for me so deeply that he thought he needed to protect me?”

“Brienne, you have to understand. . . Jaime Lannister isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for you.” 

“I understand that, Father. But one does not choose who they love. It just so happens. I love him and as so happens, he loves me back. Doesn’t every father want his daughter to be happy?” 

“You think you can be? Happy? With that man?”

“Father, I am. Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“For the Forgotten Gods, Brienne. That’s what I always wanted for you. After that horrible ball with Renly and all the others, I never thought I’d hear you say those things. But I--” 

“Then, we’ve said all there was to say. We came here for your blessing and we wished to receive it, but if you won’t--” 

“Don’t start going on about how you'll punish me by stranding me in Tarth and never come to see me again till my death bed,” Selwyn Tarth scowls, spitting on the ground--if there’s one thing both of them wanted to avoid through this conversation, was not seeing eye to eye and parting each other’s way for years on end. Once more. “I will not lose my daughter again.” 

“Do I have your word, then, Father?” 

“Does a daughter truly need her father’s word?” 

“I do,” replies Brienne. Selwyn Tarth sighs deeply, caressing the hilt of his sword, massaging the bridge of his nose with the other hand. Still wondering after such a long argument with his daughter. 

“I could make him fight for you, you know,” he says then. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Brienne refuses, making her father chuckle for the first time since they arrived at Tarth. 

“You’re probably right,” he nods. “You’ve always known what was best for yourself, ever since you were a little kid. I’m not about to shatter your dreams again. If you’re sure, then you have my blessing, whatever that’s worth.” 

Unaware of the whole conversation at his back, Jaime has left Podrick and Tyrion’s games and has wandered off around the beach, the strong wind billowing his cape and hair, blowing the conversations between Brienne and her father and the one between Pod and Tyrion. 

His feet meet a conch, but thankfully do not break it or scratch it at all. He kneels to grab it, weighting it, measuring it. It’s almost as big as his golden hand. Remembering the tales he was told as a child, he lays the conch against his ear and closes his eyes as he hears the waves of the sea. Well, even if he’s forbidden from ever stepping foot to Sapphire Island ever again, at least he’ll remember the ocean. 

Because he’s certain he won’t allow Brienne to abandon her family just for him. He’s not worthy of that sacrifice. All she ever did, all her struggles and fights and all that fighting, was to bring honor to her family and to the Lord of Evenfall Hall. He won’t be the one to render it all useless. 

“ _Kingslayer!_ ” someone shouts, startling him. 

It was none other than Selwyn of Tarth summoning him. Jaime stands and crosses the beach, exchanging one look with Tyrion and Podrick as he passes them by, feeling the glares of all the soldiers down at the beach. 

At some point he does meet Brienne and her father and is forced to raise her head to meet their eyes. He cannot tell the veredict only judging by their faces--they’ve both got stoic and stern looks that make him feel uncertain and meaningless. At long last he learns where did Brienne master that furious and judgmental look of hers whenever she used to glare at him. 

Jaime clears his throat and bends by the waist. 

“My Lord.” 

Selwyn Tarth lets a few agonizing seconds pass by and Jaime tries his best not to fidget or look at Brienne for help--or even answers. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, son,” he says finally. “But if you ever break my daughter’s heart, you’ll lose much, much more than your remaining hand.” 

“Believe me, you’re not the first one to make that threat,” Jaime informs, the slight tone of amusement in his voice. Selwyn Tarth will have to get in line if he wants a piece of him and will have to do with whatever Arya leaves behind. If she ever leaves a body to be found. “I understand completely.” 

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” scowls Selwyn. “Just get out of my sight now. I guess I’ll be seeing you lot for dinner.” 

With those last words, Lord Selwyn just dashes forward, bumping rudely into Jaime’s shoulder to force him to step aside. He stares at Brienne’s father’s back as he makes his way back to the Keep, all the soldiers following him as well. In a way, he feels he’s missed something, or that he’s been made fun of. Perhaps he is the stupidest Lannister. Out of the two only remaining Lannisters, he certainly is. 

“I don’t understand,” he finally confesses, turning to look at Brienne. Her eyes are softer now, allowing his heart to beat again. 

Brienne jsut can’t hold back any longer and bursts out laughing at Jamie’s confusion and stupor. Her roar is so loud--so freeing, so full of joy--that Jaime even cracks a little smile too, enthralled by Brienne’s boisterous laughter, by the time Podrick and Tyrion join them as well. 

“What happened?” asks the former. 

“I honestly have no idea,” confesses Jaime, briefly looking away from Brienne’s face.

“That’s no surprise,” scowls Tyrion, almost mimmicking Selwyn’s words and tone. He turns to address Brienne, but she’s still not quite settled yet. “Question is, have you been branded from the island?” 

“I don’t think so,” he says. 

“Are you pending an execution? Trial by combat?” 

“No!” shrieks Jaime, shocked--at least he doesn’t think so. 

“That would be too cruel,” adds Brienne, shaking her head. 

“Does that mean--?” asks Podrick, looking at Brienne and Tyrion alternatively, knowing no reassurance will come from Jaime himself. 

“I believe so,” he says, in spite the fact the question wasn’t addressed to him. His words in a whisper, he’s unable to shift his eyes from Brienne’s, now that he’s come to understand what has just unfolded. 

She reaches out and takes his golden hand, cold in the winter breeze. He swallows deeply, afraid to even think about it, much less say the words out loud. 

“Then congratulations to you both,” says Tyrion, holding Jamie’s arm and squeezing Brienne’s hand in turn. “This calls for a celebration! You lads, don’t bother picking that up and pour us some glasses.”

Some stewards had put up a tent, a table and some chairs with beverages and food. It was supposed to be Brienne and her father’s breakfast, but trust Tyrion to overlook procedure for a fine glass of wine. They haven’t actually made used of any of the drinks or food, except from Selwyn himself who needed some glasses of wine after Brienne delivered the news, and so they now have at their disposal more than enough drinks and stewards for a celebration. 

However, Jaime stops Podrick before the young lads follows Tyrion to the table. 

“Pod, listen. I must say. . . Thank your for convincing me to come here. It was. . . It was the right thing to do. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my Lord,” he says, bowing his head, but when he straightens, he’s looking at Brienne with pride in his eyes. He suggested Jaime doing the trip back to her home all for Brienne’s sake, after all, and Jaime understood that the minute Podrick started talking and chastised himself for not thinking it himself. Brienne could never elope from her home without telling her father, or without receiving, her father’s blessing. Even if she asked and was rejected, she had to try and obtain Selwyn’s blessing. On the other hand, he too had to meet Brienne’s father, it’s just standard. The trip was long overdue, considering. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Podrick bids farewell, understanding Jaime and Brienne do need some time alone. He bends by the waist and joins Tyrion, who pours him a glass of wine. 

Jaime steps to the side to be right in front of Brienne, only some inches shorter than she is. The woman’s still got a smug grin on her lips but out of pity, probably, is trying her hardest not to burst out laughing at him again. But then he chuckles too, dropping his head. 

“Well, I can formally say I was lucky with Cersei for skipping the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing,” he confesses. “The only one good thing I got out of that relationship, though.” 

“You got through it remarkably well,” praises Brienne, holding both side of Jamie’s face to look at him dead in the eye. Her eyes, tell him now, promise him that she’s not joking or making fun of him or being cruel--they got her father’s blessing. “What’ve you got there?” 

Jaime raises the conch, almost surprised to find out he's been carrying it all this time. 

“Just thought I could take something back with me if your father banished me from the island.” 

At his sheer terror and fright for the future, Brienne dismisses it all with another roar of laughter, never letting go of Jaime. She leans forward, resting her forehead against his, tenderly caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. 

“You won’t need any reminders of Tarth, for you’re allowed to come back whenever you want to.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Jaime whispers, sealing the invitation, and also the promise of their future together, with a deep, passionate kiss. One last thing comes to mind and he needs to break the kiss to ask it. “You didn’t tell him. . .?” his left hand wanders off to Brienne’s stomach and she chuckles again. 

“No, I figured you struggle enough living with only one hand,” she says. 

Jaime sighs, actually relieved that for once in her life Brienne decided it was for the greater good to keep part of the truth, even from her father, and leans forward again to find Brienne’s lips. Of course, when they do deliver the news, Selwyn will be able to do the math and realize the deception--but they’ll be secluded safely away at Winterfell, and perhaps the birth of a grandchild might ease the worse of Selwyn’s wrath.


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” scoffs Brienne, struggling. 

“What in the world are you doing?” shrieks Podrick, stepping forward to stop her from leaving her bed. He’s as freaked out as if he’d just been told there’s a fire somewhere in the Castle, and the hatred look Brienne addresses him for trying to forbid her from doing anything doesn’t help the young lad’s nerves one bit. 

“Getting out of this bed and fulfilling my duties as Lord Commander of the Queen!” explodes Brienne, her powerful and angry voice making poor Podrick jump. Jaime flinches as well, surprised at both their reactions: Podrick as well as he spent months on end travelling with Brienne across the Seven Kingdoms, they should be used to her outbursts by now. Then again, she never showed such open annoyance when he was with her, and he bets she never was either with Podrick. 

As far as Brienne is concerned, she hasn’t noticed Pod’s or Jaime’s reaction, for she’s too busy struggling to get out of bed. Pod stands there, sweating profoundly for not knowing what to do or say, rubbing his hands as he ponders if it’s better to risk Brienne’s wrath or to abide the Maester’s orders. Jaime, on the other hand, stays on his chair, tired of this discussion and predicting its end. 

“Will one of you two please help me?” demands Brienne after a few seconds, unable to make it out of the bed by herself. 

Terrified of the consequences if he didn’t, Pod kneels by Brienne’s side and holds her arm to give her a hand. Jaime does stand at that moment, but remains close to his chair, for he’s not going to help Brienne at all. And with his inactivity and staying out of the conundrum, Podrick wavers, half-bent over Brienne, his hands hovering Brienne’s body, waiting for Jaime’s assessment. 

“Let’s talk about this,” he suggests. 

“The only thing I need to say is that I’m failing my duties towards my Queen,” scowls Brienne, still sunk on the bed. Jaime sighs before resuming the conversation. 

“You’re doing nothing of that sort,” he scowls. “As you well know, you’re in no condition to fulfill your duties--you must be on bed rest for now, honey. Ordered by. . .” 

“The Maester,” Podrick reminds her softly, just to point out they’re not making this all up just to piss her off. 

“That’s right. Which means you are not getting out of this bed today, not for any reason, much less to go training or protect the Queen of the North. I can take care of morning training from now on with Podrick. And the Kingdom has been at peace for almost a full year today--you do not need to constantly look after Lady Sansa.” 

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Brienne scoffs again, seeing that she might have found the one battle she cannot win. She’s stopped struggling against the blankets and the low bed in her attempts to stand from the bed, for she’s understood the weight she carries makes it highly impossible to achieve her goal. 

Jaime purses his lips--knew from the beginning Brienne wouldn’t go down with a fight. 

“Resting would do well with your nausea and sore feet,” he says softly. “And, honestly, the general aching over your whole body. You will feel much better if you spend a day in bed, I can promise you. Won’t you trust me this time?” he begs, in that deep, warm voice that usually charms her. All the recommendations he’s given her since the start of the pregnancy have helped Brienne, despite her original complaints. What she could eat and drink, on what side should she sleep on, the clothes that would be more comfortable--he's almost fulfilled the duties of the Maester, and just as wonderfully, except the medical check-ups. She could take a wild leap of faith here and trust him again, on this once. 

“I fought the Hound and countless others and didn’t need weeks of bedrest to recuperate afterwards!” she insists, pure rage in her eyes now. “Now you tell me that because I’m pregnant I cannot leave this forsaken bed?” 

“Well, you _are_ pregnant,” he reminds her softly, kneeling in front of her, his golden hand on her knee, his good hand on her cheek. She leans against his touch and he dares to flash her a smile. “Almost eight months pregnant, to be precise, and just cannot do everything you wish to do. All the nausea, headaches, sickness. . . They’re just signs that you need to take things a bit easier. Being on your feet will not help matters. 

“And honestly, I know you’re an expert swordswoman, but my heart couldn’t bear to see you fighting, even with a sparring sword,” he chuckles in the end. 

His confession does make Brienne stop for a second, close her eyes and reconsider. Jaime and Podrick exchange one hopeful look--her listening was the best they could hope for, given the circumstances. Then again, they knew it wasn’t a won battle already. 

“No knight has ever been forced to step down because of--”

“You are a _woman_. You’re pregnant. That’s the end of it, Brinny,” Jaime interjects before she goes off into a rambling. “And you’re not stepping down, you’re temporarily allowing someone to take charge of your more taxing duties while you’re feeling unwell.” 

“Ugh!” Brienne’s unintelligible yell as she leans back on the wall is understandable, in the end, and Jaime appreciates not saying aloud the words she was thinking: she just wants to be a knight, not a woman. He was lucky enough to grant her that first wish, but there’s nothing to be done concerning her second wish. Life is full of difficult compromises: she must understand that, now, she’s a woman first, a knight second. The only one who needs to slow her workload and take things easier for being pregnant, but it’s the same difference for any men wounded in the battle. 

“You say I’ll feel better if I spend the day in bed,” Brienne says. Lying on bed, she stares up at the ceiling instead of Jaime or Podrick, “but I _will_ , most definitely, go mad if I stay the whole day in these chambers, Jaime.” 

Head tilted, Jaime clicks his tongue. He shares one more look with Podrick, who runs to get out of the room, leaving the door ajar. 

“I really wish you could abide the Maester’s recommendations,” Jaime whispers. 

“You know me,” she scowls, fighting with the pillows and blankets, “I never listen to anyone.” 

“Don’t I know it,” agrees Jaime with a chuckle. “Although I thought _I_ was the deaf, stubborn as a mule one between us.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re both hellishly headstrong and inflexible--one day we may have a contest to see who’s worse.” 

“Something tells me I’d win that one,” laughs Jaime. “Most people around here hate me already; I do not need a popularity contest for that, thank you very much.” 

“You’d get my vote, if that helps.” 

Bending by the waist, Jaime rests his hand on the bed, leaning so his face is only inches away from Brienne’s. As much as she hates this whole situation, she’s slowly coming to terms with it already--falling back to their usual banter is proof enough. “You do realize that a vote for me isn’t that flattering in these circumstances?” 

“Take a compliment, Lannister,” she orders, the hint of a smile on her lips. “What’s that?” 

They both turn towards the entrance, as a squeaking, high-pitched sound can be heard approaching the chambers. Jaime gives her a kiss on the hair before pulling away out of politeness--he already knows what that is and knows that Brienne will appreciate him not being all over her when it arrives. 

After a while, the squeaking sound stops right outside the door. Podrick waves from the threshold and still knocks on the wood door to ask permission to step inside. 

“What’s going on?” demands Brienne. 

“Should I bring it in?” Podrick asks Jaime, as if he hadn’t heard Brienne at all. 

“Yes, please,” begs Jaime. He looks down on Brienne, the proud and charming smile making her frown. She can’t comprehend where all this good humor stems from--she feels nowhere near there. 

Podrick, beaming, runs outside again, and Jaime follows him to hold the door open for him. Brienne tries to stand on her elbows, waiting for Podrick to bring in whatever he and Jaime were talking about. . . And can’t stop bursting out laughing when she sees Podrick pushing in a wheelchair. 

“You were prepared for every vicissitude, weren’t you?” she asks Jaime, who simply nods, radiant smile on his and Podrick’s faces. They push the chair to the bedside, letting Brienne assess the height and strength. “Where did you get this?” 

“Brandon had it prepared when I asked him last night,” confesses Jaime. Of course, the youngster Stark would be ready for such a contingency well before he was asked. “And I couldn’t let sir Brienne losing her mind after spending a whole day locked up in our chambers, could I?

“This still rules out training or protecting the Queen, though,” he insists before they try to get Brienne into the chair, stating the ground rules. 

“Fine,” scowls Brienne with a roll of eyes--giving in without a fight only because the prospect of spending the whole day lying in bed has changed enormously. “So long as I can get out of here for a change. Help me.” 

This time Jaime and Podrick move in simultaneously, standing at both sides of Brienne to help her to her feet and into the chair. They give her a few seconds to adjust to the feel of the chair before showering her with thick blankets--even though no one will be taking her out of the Castle, never mind the wheelchair. 

For a second, she looks a little bit sick, closing her eyes and resting one hand to her forehead to steady herself. Jaime’s just bound to ask for Podrick’s help to get her back to bed when she opens her eyes again. The excitement and eagerness he reads makes Jaime laugh too, a mixture of worry and relief flooding him all over. Brienne’s just dying to get out of these four walls. Perhaps a change will do well with her state of mind. 

“Come on,” presses Brienne, trying to push herself out of the room. 

The angle’s just not right and she lets out a groan and so Podrick takes his spot behind the chair, claiming silently the taking her everywhere at least for today. Once more, the novelty and freedom of movement convinces her out of putting up a fight, and they come out of the room, all three satisfied with the compromise they’ve reached. 

“Hold on,” Brienne begs after a few corridors. 

That shocks Podrick and Jaime’s whole systems. They’d expected a fight to halt her before she tries fleeing the Castle, but no other complaints up until that moment. She looks up, trying to crane her neck to see Jaime, and so he goes around the wheelchair and kneels in front of her to avoid any unnecessary struggles. 

“What is it?” he asks in fear. Even though this solution was long overdue for her wellbeing, if she’s not feeling right he _will_ drag her back to their chambers, whatever means necessary. 

Brienne smiles, easing his worries with that simple gesture, and leans forward. Jaime reads her clear intentions--she’s not so worried about showing, or demanding, her wishes and needs anymore--and, in order to avoid applying any pressure to her stomach, he meets her lips halfway. 

“Thank you,” Brienne whispers when they pull away. 

“My pleasure,” answers Jaime. “So, should we go?” 

“Yes, please,” agrees Brienne eagerly, pushing Jaime. He falls to the ground, but laughs under his breath to show he wasn’t injured. He just knows Brienne needs to move, to go somewhere, _anywhere_ , that isn’t the chambers.


	10. Chapter 10

“Here,” says the Maester, helping Brienne into drinking a bit more of water. She leans as best as she can and drinks eagerly, dropping back onto the bed afterwards, ready to fall asleep at a moment’s notice. “Do you need anything else?” 

“No, thank you, Maester,” she says in a tired whisper--her eyelids feel so heavy, her whole body aches so much she feels she won’t be able to move from the bed in an entire fortnight. 

With all her exhaustion, she feels satisfied and proud of herself. She made it. Somehow, she made it through. Only an hour ago she finally delivered her baby--a healthy girl with a very healthy pair of lungs. All ten fingers and toes, not disproportionately big as Brienne was at birth, and amazingly beautiful. At least she got that from Jaime’s family, although Brienne hopes all and any resemblances end there. 

The father in question is not where he’s supposed to be right now, at her bedside, soothing her nerves by promising everything’s going to be alright. With all of Jaime’s talk these past few months, every night, every morning, every waking moment, Brienne’s still terrified. First, it was taking care of herself because that meant she was taking care of her child too. But now the baby’s out in the world, with all the dangers it entails, all the nightmares lurking in the shadows, and Brienne’s fears have done nothing but grow ever since she successfully got through the eight-hour delivery. 

Her worries wouldn’t just eat her alive if she could had that little baby again, safe in her arms, resting against her chest. But Brienne only held her for what felt like a couple minutes--although it must have been like an whole hour--before a string of visitors and well-wishers knocked on the door. Podrick, Tyrion, Sansa, Arya. . . They all filed in before Brienne or Jaime could stop them, begging to meet little Joanne. The child has been passed from arms to arms ever since. 

As per Jaime, he’s just found his new, favorite mantra. After learning about her bearing a child and abiding the agreed period of time Brienne begged of him, all the words that escaped from Jaime’s mouth were ‘Sir Brienne is pregnant’. Now, he’s changed that in order to announce to the whole damn world that ‘He’s a father’, alternatively using the sentence ‘She’s my daughter’ while looking down at Joanne with so much awe and pride in his teary eyes that it fills Brienne’s heart too. People have already started to beg him to shut up--Arya has already threatened him with her blade--but he just cannot stop himself from saying that. It’s the first time he can be open about a child he’s fathered. 

“Jaime,” Brienne whispers. 

The man crosses the room in two long strides, kneeling by the bed, and Brienne breathes a little bit easier with him by her side. However, there’re still a whole lot of worries buzzing in her mind, the majority involving their daughter not being in her arms. After only a couple of seconds, Jaime realizes what’s wrong with the picture and demands Sansa surrendering Joanne back to her mother. 

Tears in her eyes, Brienne takes the child back. She bites her lower lip as to stop herself from asking the Maester if Joanne’s truly alright--her own mantra today. The Maester has promised Joanne’s in excellent health more times today than the pleas heard for Jaime to stop his ranting at some point. 

At the moment, Joanne’s sleeping, at peace, tucked in the blankets Lady Sansa gave them as presents, that she sewed herself. Little Joanne sleeps, completely unaware of the show happening around her and of the whole family that’ll be in her corner and protecting her every step of the way. 

Jaime reaches out his good hand and caresses Joanne’s little head, her thin and short golden hair, and leans to plant a dozen of kisses on Brienne’s cheeks, eyes, forehead, nose and one last to her lips. He’s overflowing with happiness, contrasting with Brienne’s kind of passive response as she’s so damned exhausted. 

“She’s our daughter,” Jaime whispers, resting his golden hand on the pillow by Brienne’s face. Still as surprised, still in awe, as he was half an hour ago, when he first met Joanne and took her in his arms. 

“That, she is,” confirms Brienne, tilting her head to be ever so closer to Jaime’s face. 

Everyone else seems to realize they’ve overstepped their welcome, even though this is still, technically, Winterfell, and Lady Sansa _is_ the Queen of Winterfell. One by one, they all congratulate them again and bid farewell. Podrick’s the one to have a harder time leaving the room--he needs to be dragged away by Tyrion. After checking with Joanne, the mother and the father, the Maester bends and leaves too. 

As soon as Jaime shuts the door behind the Maester, he kneels back by Brienne’s side and she scoops a bit to give him some space on the bed. Jaime offers her his shoulder for a pillow, and throws his left arm around Brienne’s broad shoulders, to hold Joanne too, caress her through the blankets with his good hand. 

“We have a _daughter,_ ” he whispers, leaning to rest his head on Brienne’s. 

“Yes,” she nods, without shifting her eyes off the baby in her arms neither. 

She understands him needing the reassurance. He fathered three children that no one in the whole damn world could know about. The children and the only relationship Jaime ever had with a woman--healthy or not--remained a secret for so many of hurtful and throbbing years. Worst of all, Jaime couldn’t act like a father. His public and private role was to stay in the shadows, his task only to protect them from evil. And, knowing now how much Jaime always wished to be a father, to actually have a family and raise children, his part in the sidelines must have hurt as hell. He could care less about the politics and strategies he was thrown into since such a young age. They were taught to preserve the family name by having a family. Cersei got hers. Jaime didn’t have the chance. 

Today, both their dreams have been fulfilled. Today, he gets to rejoice, to tell all Seven Kingdoms. He gets to be a father, although he couldn’t look less interested in maintaining the family’s name now. He’s a father, with all the vicissitudes linked to parenting that Jaime seems to be oblivious to. Brienne prays the Forgotten Gods they’ll take pity on their miserable asses and grant them a peaceful, uneventful life. That’s all she asks. 

With those reveries, exhaustion starts to catch up with her. The picture of the beautiful baby in her arms gets blurry and vanishes behind her eyelids over and over again--and every time it’s a bit harder to keep away. 

Jaime plants a kiss on her forehead. “It’s OK,” he whispers. “You can sleep. I’ll be here all night with her and will still be here when you wake up.” 

At that, Brienne nods, not fighting sleep anymore. She can trust his word. He does know her and knows how to ease all of her worries--he’s even tactful enough to ask before taking Joanne from her arms without permission. 

The thing Jaime kept out of his promises was that he wasn’t going to get any sleep at all throughout the night. Brinny needs only a few seconds before her breathing is deep and calm and Jaime leaves the bed, taking Joanne, and sits on an armchair. But he’s throwing a jig inside and sitting just won’t do. 

And so, he spends the whole night walking in circles around their chambers, avoiding the creaky spots on the wooden floor, staring at the beautiful little girl sleep peacefully in his arms. He keeps an eye for Brienne in case she woke up with a nightmare or she needed to move on the bed, and also to stare back at her in awe and pride without the woman feeling conscious of his staring, blushing and forcing him to look away. Luckily for the two of them---three of them now--she’s getting her well-deserved night of sleep. Her hands do twitch now and then as if looking for something, _someone_. How could she fear she won’t be a good mother, Jaime cannot fathom. Even with his so-called ‘previous experience’, he knows she’ll be a thousand times better parent than he’ll ever be. It’s not even a damn question. Brienne’s a role model for every little kid in the Seven Kingdoms, starting with their newborn daughter. 

Come morning, someone knocks softly on the door and Jaime rushes to answer before whomever insensitive Soul called awakens Brienne. 

It’s Podrick, with a shy little smile and waving good morning. His eyes immediately shift to Joanne as soon as Jaime opens the door. Jaime sees his own awe and delight appearing in those clear, honest eyes of Podrick’s, and sighs. 

“Here you go,” he says, handing him Joanne. He looks shocked but he takes the child, cradling her uncomfortably. He’s going to be her honorary big brother, he might as well start getting used to taking care of her. Instinct reacts and Podrick raises his pinky finger to caress gently, adoringly, Joanne’s face, letting her grab his finger in her sleep. 

“She’s so small,” he whispers, lest he woke her up. 

“Babies usually are,” reckons Jaime. “She’ll grow before we know it, though.” 

“Yeah,” says Pod, nodding. 

With the broadest smile Jaime’s ever seen on the boy, Podrick cradles Joanne and starts humming her a lullaby under his breath, surprising Jaime again by his uncanny beautiful singing voice. Joanne also seems to like it, as she stirs lazily in her blankets. Podrick misinterprets it as a sign he’s doing something wrong and freezes, his song unfinished. 

“I really came to check on you two,” he whispers. He raises his eyes towards Jaime and takes a good look at the man. The results of the analysis makes him giggle. “You don’t seem to have slept at all.” 

“I didn’t,” Jaime confesses honestly. His eyes are still glued on that child. 

“Sir Brienne?” 

“She’s still sleeping,” promises Jaime, before Podrick or anyone else in this Castle accuses him of not taking proper care of Brienne--or Joanne, for that matter. “So, are you going to report that we’re all safe and sound?” 

“Yes,” nods Podrick. 

The lad doesn’t move at all, which was Jaime’s intention with his enquiry--make Podrick leave to report to whoever asked him to check in on them. Jaime clears his throat and that finally snaps Podrick out of his blur, raising his head. He needs a few seconds more to understand Jaime’s demand. 

“Right. Sorry,” he says, returning Joanne into his arms. “Congratulations again. I’m assuming we won’t be seeing either of you in about a fortnight?” 

“I wouldn’t say _that_ much,” laughs Jaime. “Stop by at any time, though.” 

Podrick nods once before he walks down the hall. Jaime shuts the door with his foot, but because of a gust of wind, the door slams shut. Back in bed, Brienne startles, jumping out of bed, looking around for the source of the menace. Jaime shushes her worries by sitting on the edge of the bed, bringing her their child--if Joanne’s still sleeping, Brienne can calm down as well. 

“It’s alright,” Jaime reminds her, handing her Joanne back. Brienne sits again, her back against the wall, the brightest of smiles when she looks down on her daughter. Jaime sees the love and adoration pouring from those eyes, from every fiber of Brienne’s system, and once more disbelieves that Brinny should be concerned at all about motherhood and what kind of a mother she’ll be. He’s been telling her every day and, even though its repetition might render those words useless, he’ll keep saying them until Brienne believes them down the line--she just needs to be herself, without changing a damn thing, and she’ll be one of the best mothers the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen. 

As she seems at ease right now, Jaime swallows back those words and reassurance. They will probably be useful soon enough, and he doesn’t want to upset Brienne when there’s no reason to. 

After all, a very good reason for her to panic springs out about half an hour later: Joanne wakes up and starts brawling at the top of her young lungs. Brienne pulls her away, scared stiff, tears of fright in her eyes. 

“What did I do?” she demands. 

“Nothing,” promises Jaime, flashing a reassuring smile. “Right now, she’s only got two basic needs: feeding and cleaning.” 

“So, which one is it?” 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s the former.” 

He can hear Brienne swallowing hard her fears, as her eyes bat open gradually. “I. . . I don’t know. . .” 

“Stop it,” he commands softly, as to not make her panic more over the crying baby in her arms. “I will not allow you to say ‘I don’t know how to do that’ every day; because you need to have more confidence in the things you’ll know instinctively. And for the rest, all you need is a little bit of experience, sweetheart.” 

He kisses her on the lips briefly to convey his words, but then takes Joanne from Brienne’s arms, trying to cradle her to stop crying. He gives Brienne some seconds to come to terms with what she’s supposed to do now--she knows that much, at the very least. Taking a very deep breath of air, Brienne starts unlacing her shirt, blushing under the sweat, which forces Jaime to hold back a giggle. What could she possibly be embarrassed for at this point? He’s already seen, explored, caressed and kissed every inch of that body, what difference does it make now? 

“Just remember, she’s got as much experience as you do,” he says warmly, sitting closer with brawling Joanne in his arms. “She won’t know the difference.”


	11. Chapter 11

Outside, the blizzard has finally worn off, after hitting with cold gusts of wind and more inches of snow to pile up around the Castle. Still, Brienne wraps herself properly with her thick coat and thanks the Gods for having a perfect excuse to stay indoors a little while longer. 

She walks through an almost empty Castle. The low temperatures and snowfall would never stop any activity from the northerners. They fought throughout the night against the dead, these men and women can weather through everything. And so can Brienne, if only a few months after Joanne’s birth. 

Their chambers are empty, which comes as a surprise, to be honest. The bed is made, some wooden toys scattered on the floor, but the fire is lit, meaning they do plan on returning soon enough. 

Brienne turns around, shutting the door to prevent cold wind currents into the chambers. There’s only that many places they could be at, considering they wouldn’t step outside in this cold. At least they got her out of the chambers for a change. 

Her first stop is the dining hall and her hunch is proven right. From the hall, she can already hear the voices from the two Lannister brothers talking, but she has a hard time making out their words. They seem to be engaged in a conversation--there’s applause and cheerings now and then--but it doesn’t sound coherent at all. Then again, few things are, concerning those two. 

Standing at the entrance, she sees the two brothers seated right where she left them earlier at breakfast, although now the room is empty otherwise and has been cleared out from goblets and dishes. They’ve taken Joanne and she’s seating on the table in front of her father and uncle, enjoying the attention and laughter she causes inadvertently. 

“You’re so right!” says Jaime then. “We should really do that, don’t you think, Tyrion?” 

“Oh, yes, of course, Jaime,” he hastily agrees. 

Every time Joanne blurts out some gibberish, Jaime and Tyrion answer by agreeing wholeheartedly, making Joanne feel as if she were having a real adult conversation with her father and uncle. And even if nothing good will ever stem from such talk, Jaime and Tyrion seem to enjoy it nonetheless, which just encourages Joanne a bit more to burst out into unintelligible sentences and a wiggle of her tiny arms. Although he’s skipped practice once more, forcing Brienne to disregard the rules and show favoritism because he’s the father of her daughter, Brienne smiles at the sight--Jaime just can’t stand being away from Joanne. Neither can Brienne, to be honest, but she’s righteous enough to understand that honor and duties come first. 

“Who’s winning the argument, then?” she asks, stepping into the hall. 

“She is,” promises Jaime, scooping down the bench to give Brienne some space. 

At that moment Brienne finds a loaf of bread on the table, and right then Joanne bends to grab a little piece. Well, no question she’s not going to eat her luncheon today. There is something else within range, however, that scares her. 

“You’re drinking _wine?”_ she shrieks, just as Tyrion took another sip. 

“Relax, Brienne, I’m only drinking water,” promises Jaime immediately, handing her his goblet for her to check his drink. “Also, drunk or not, I wouldn’t give my eight-months-old daughter wine to drink. I’m not that stupid.” 

“Evidence points to the contrary.” 

“Not helping, Tyrion,” scowls Jaime, hitting his brother in the arm, making him spill some of his wine all over the table. 

In order to put a stop to the argument, he takes Joanne and lets her rest on his lap. The proximity to their daughter, seeing she’s safe and sound in spite of her time spent alone with Tyrion and Jaime, helps Brienne relax faster. She waves at her daughter, grabbing Joanne’s little hand to mimic a wave back, and smiles in delight when Joanne giggles joyfully. 

“Have you had fun with Dad and uncle Tyrion?” she asks, with that high-pitched and silly voice she never dared to utter and now she cannot speak to Joanne on any other matter. She also reserves that particular voice for Jaime and Tyrion, for when they do something incredibly stupid. 

It takes her a full minute of conversation and playing with Joanne until she remembers why she was looking for Jaime in the first place. 

“Lady Sansa’s looking for us.” 

“All right,” nods Jaime, but he keeps her eyes on Joanne. The girl is transfixed, like so many other times, on Jaime’s golden hand and the reflections of fire dancing there. It’s one of her favorite toys, helps her fall asleep without fail on her worse nights filled with monsters and dread. 

“Are we going to make her wait much longer?” presses Brienne. 

“Did that plural include me too?” demands Tyrion, by Jaime’s other side, who’s already reclaimed his wine goblet. At Brienne's negative, he takes another long sip. “Then it’s not an emergency.” 

“Exactly. She can spare a couple more minutes,” says Jaime. 

“No, she cannot,” scowls Brienne, taking Joanne from Jaime, the only thing that’ll make him snap and realize the stupidities he’s saying. He does complain at the sudden loss of his daughter but surrenders before putting her in harm’s way. “She is your Queen--since when do we make Queens wait?”

“Oh, all right,” Jaime concedes, standing. “This better be good. She hasn’t requested my presence for an audience in. . .” 

“Not the throne room,” Brienne stops him as he was about to turn right on his way out of the hall. 

“Then, where?” he demands. 

Instead of giving a verbal answer, Brienne turns left. Jaime follows, dragging his feet with a too melodramatic flare for her taste, but she just makes sure Joanne’s wearing clothing that’ll keep her warm still in the dead of winter. She has no idea what Lady Sansa wants, but she also asked they took little Joanne with them. 

“Hold on,” Jaime begs as he understands they are venturing outside. Resting a hand on her arm, he tries to stop Brienne, take Joanne from her, keep the girl inside the warmth of the Castle, but Brienne keeps going. Kids have been brought at Winterfell for generations and they’ve survived, she keeps telling him. 

“Podrick’s readying the horses,” she reassures him. 

“The horses? Where in the Seven’s names are we going?” 

“Into the village, I presume,” Podrick answers as they step into the stables. He addresses Joanne a goofy face when Brienne walks past him carrying the toddler and then points at two horses outside. “These are yours.” 

“Where’s yours?” demands Brienne. 

“Ready as well.” 

“And Lady Sansa?” 

“She’s already left,” says Podrick in a whisper, making Jaime scoff behind them. 

“If she went ahead, she clearly doesn’t need us,” he says, already reaching for Joanne. “Or at least, she doesn’t need the two of us. Go be her guardian angel and we’ll return inside, where it’s not so freaking cold, all right?” 

“As a matter of fact,” intervenes Podrick. “Lady Sansa did specifically say she would see all three of you as soon as you were able to make it to the village.” 

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” scowls Jaime. 

But after that outburst, he understands that he needs to fulfill his duties towards the Queen he swore an oath to, and so he complains no more and is the first one to climb onto his horse, despite his hand. He gets an approving nod from Brienne and that gives him strength for the ride into the village, even without Joanne in his arms. 

“Go find Lady Sansa,” Brienne orders Podrick when they’re approaching, and the lad dashes off. Jaime spurs on his horse to ride side by side with Brienne now that they’re all alone, and bends towards Joanne. 

“Are you cold, little one? Are you?” he asks. 

“I don’t think she is,” promises Brienne. 

Jaime looks up at her, resting his good hand on her shoulder. “And you?” he presses, his voice softer and sweeter now. 

Registering the difference, Brienne smiles and blushes against the perpetual red cheeks from the cold. He’s not using that silly voice of his now, he’s showing real concern and wants an honest answer from her. 

“I’m fine too,” she promises.

Down at the fields, she nods in greeting a few of the workers, but they ride past them towards the village. There, they descend their horses and Jaime’s first act is to check in on Joanne tucked away in her delicate blankets. She’s half-asleep in Brienne’s arms, it seems that the wobbling of the horses soothes her down. He had her overstimulated earlier and was kind of worried.

A horse approaches trotting and they turn around to meet Podrick, his face a bit red from all the coming and going. When he reaches their position, he dismounts his horse too. 

“Lady Sansa’s waiting for you, my Lords.” 

“I don’t suppose she told you the reason for this unscheduled visit?” demands Jaime. 

“No, she did not,” replies Podrick. But he turns around too quickly to guide them through the village to wherever it is Lady Sansa’s expecting them. At Podrick’s back, Jaime and Brienne exchange one insightful look. Podrick does know what this is all about. They don’t pressure him on it, however, realizing it cannot be bad news either way. 

A few minutes later, by the other end of the village, they meet Lady Sansa and her escort. She dismounts her horse too, taking off her gloves as they arrive.

“My Lady,” says Brienne, bowing by the head, and Jaime can tell she is about to apologize for making the Queen wait and not riding by her side to fulfill her oath of guarding her at all times. 

Lady Sansa doesn’t allow so much time wasted in formalities, as she waves towards a house to their right for Jaime and Brienne to enter. They do, cautiously, Lady Sansa, Podrick and three more soldiers following inside. The house is average, size speaking, and yet there are so many people inside the cottage that it seems small. It’s been cleaned out of dust and the doors, chairs, tables, and windows are brand new, without mentioning it’s fully equipped, with kitchen appliances and a fire burning in the chimney. 

“What do you think?” asks Lady Sansa after a few minutes. 

“I don’t understand, my Lady,” confesses Brienne, handing Joanne over to Podrick. 

“Well, it’s yours if you want it, sir Brienne,” explains Lady Sansa with a warm smile. “We figured you could use some space and privacy with your family.” 

“Lady Sansa, that is not--” 

“I am not releasing you from your duties against your will,” Sansa rushes to explain before Brienne thinks the worst. “The village is close enough to Winterfell for you to go and come back every day, if you wish to stay on service.” 

“Are you displeased with my performance at all, my Lady?” Brienne shrieks. Jaime takes one step forward to grab Brienne’s shivering hand, as she’s so scared to have failed the Stark family yet again. 

“In no way whatsoever,” promises Lady Sansa. 

“Then I should stay at Winterfell, my Lady. In case any threat or menace fell upon you or any member of your family, I need to stay close to. . .” 

“Brinny,” interjects Jaime. “Your Queen is giving you a home for a present. You don’t argue, you just accept.”

Torn between two different aspects of her duties--graciously accept a gift from her Queen, or else properly fulfill her duties and stay by her Queen’s side all the time--Brienne stutters, at a loss for some long seconds. She looks at Jaime, Lady Sansa and Podrick holding Joanne alternatively, looking for the best response to give, but none comes. 

“Of course, you may have all the time you need to decide,” says Lady Sansa to spare Brienne. “I know it’s too modest a house for two knights. . .”

“It’s perfect, your Grace. Thank you,” Jaime replies formally, bowing his head. “We will give you an answer in a couple of days.” 

“Good,” approves Sansa. “Then we’ve done everything we came here to do. We can return to Winterfell now,” she tells the soldiers, who bow their heads and leave the house to inform the rest of the escort and ready the Lady's horse. 

“Your Grace,” Brienne starts, but no more words follow. Sansa smiles warmly at them both, putting her gloves back on. 

“I will see you two this evening for dinner.” 

At that, she exits the house. Jaime has to drag Brienne outside so they formally bid farewell to their Queen as she rides away with her escort. Behind her, she leaves a grateful village and an astonished sir Brienne, standing between Podrick and Jaime without coherent words to utter. 

“Shall I show you around?” suggests Podrick then. 

“You knew about this?” demands Brienne. 

“Not until this morning,” the squire promises before she accuses him of deceit or worse, treason, for keeping her in the dark. 

They step inside again, thanking the fire, and Jaime shuts the door.

“I still. . . It makes no sense for a knight, especially a Queen’s guard, to live outside of the Castle,” Brienne insists then, still in shock. And yet, she looks around the house with evaluating eyes, as if assessing already if she could live here with Jaime and Joanne. 

“Brinny,” Jaime stops her ranting, cupping her cheek with his good hand. “They’ve had a baby brawling and crawling all around Winterfell for almost a year now. Furthermore, we’ve just started trying to have another baby. The soldiers and servants probably begged Lady Sansa to have us kicked out from the Castle.” 

Brienne blushes at those words, looking over at Podrick, but he pretends to be too busy examining the stairs that lead to the upper story. Anyhow, everyone living at Winterfell must know that already--it’s fact. Jaime doesn’t look embarrassed at all.

“Sansa just wanted to give us a real home for our family.” 

“Winterfell _is_ home.” 

“A home of our own,” Jaime mends his words, “where we can raise our kids, have a family of our own without servants or stewards being on the way.” 

“So. . . We’re keeping it?” asks Brienne. 

Jaime kisses her nose tenderly. “You tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly TERRIBLY sorry for being so inconsistent with this work! I am fully aware of it and I thank you all for your patience!! I estimate I have about 4 to 7 more chapters to write and publish. . .


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I should have done this ages ago, but I would like to thank _eveyrone_ for the amazing feedback in kudos and comments that you've given me. It means a lot!   
> On a second note, I once more would like to apologize for my inconsistency updating this work.

If there’s one thing Jaime learned from Tywin Lannister, that’s the qualities that make a good leader. 

Men will always look up and follow a good leader's example. Even if a battle's lost and everyone can see it, if he keeps standing and fighting, the men will stand as well until their dying breath. In the face of strife, if their leader keeps calm and serene, so will every last one of them. It's as simple as that--only, it takes a lot of courage to put up that kind of act permanently, sometimes pretending to be fearless for the sake of his army, for the sake of a victory on the battlefield. 

And that's what's happening here right now. Just like during the Battle of Winterfell, even when the dead started to gather around the Castle and found a way through all their defenses. So long as one person keeps their cool and does his job, command, men will follow the commands--it's how the wheel works and keeps running. And they need every man on deck to put out the fire.

“Women and children out!!” he keeps ordering at the top of his lungs, realizing such an order is terribly unfair to fighters--knights--such as Brienne. “Come on, keep the water coming!! Don’t slack off!!”

Soldiers have ensured to get Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, and Lord Bran out of the Castle first of all--soldiers are now securing the few last maidens and stewards. Of course, Arya's wandered off somewhere and is helping out in putting the fire out, alongside with Gendry and the rest of the men. Even though the fire is massive and no one's certain of how it was caused yet-- some concerning rumors are going around about it being provoked, but no one would say so just yet--it seems they're going to be lucky just yet. 

Or they would be, if people truly followed Jaime's commands. Or simply followed common sense, one of the two. Right now they need efficient people: soldiers, stewards, and guards who can run from one side to the other of the Castle, people who can withstand climbing up a few flights of stairs to fight the fire. And Tyrion doesn't qualify--even if he stays on the ground level, commanding the guards and pointing which flanks of the fire need more pressing work. 

“Tyrion! Get the hell out of here!” Jaime orders, on the edge of losing his temper because of his brother's stubbornness. He is aware Tyrion has survived through many battles, not only due to his intellect but also because of his fighting skills with an ax and other weapons, but the reason why Jaime's pissed off for him staying behind is that he is not needed here right now. “Essential personnel has been evacuated!”

“I can help,“ Tyrion still tries to argue. “I studied the Castle for strategic points for the battle--”

“So did I,” replies Jaime. “Hence, believe me or not, I know what I’m doing here. So your brains aren’t needed here--just get to safety!” he orders again. After not seeing him in months, he will not allow his little brother risking his neck again unnecessarily, not if he can help it. 

As Tyrion doesn't budge, Jaime sighs in defeat--or so Tyrion'd hoped. Jaime just stops a passerby soldier who was leading another group of despairing and sobbing women and children out. 

“How’s the evacuation going?” 

“Castle’s empty already, sire.” 

“Good. In that case, escort this group outside and personally take Lord Tyrion to Lady Sansa,” he orders. And then, just to keep up appearances, he adds, “Make sure the Stark ladies are safe and sound and report back to me.” 

“Sir,” nods the soldier. 

He exchanges one look with Lord Tyrion to join them out and then leads the entourage through the training grounds--missing the fact that Tyrion doesn't follow him at first. The two Lannister brothers hold each other's gaze for some long beats, Tyrion asking for permission to stay, Jaime begging for his brother to trust him this once and get to safety. 

“Can you make sure Joanne and Brienne are safe and sound?” Jaime begs. Apart from being concerned for their well-being, of course, he figured Tyrion wouldn't have such a hard time leaving if he assigned him a personal duty. And now, Tyrion turns around, running to catch up with the entourage he's been assigned to. 

Jaime takes a look around, trying to assess the situation, properly tying his right hand in place. Even if the evacuation has been completed, it would be marvelous if they managed to control the fire before it incinerated the whole damn Castle. Apart from the Queen and her siblings, dozens of stewards, maidens, and soldiers live here in the Castle--he doesn't wish for anyone to lose their homes. 

He’s not the first to make that brilliant and profound assessment. Up there in the battlements, stewards and soldiers are trying their best to control the fire with the chains of buckets of water. 

“Give me that,” he orders, taking the bucket from a passerby soldier. “Regroup everyone to the battlements!”

He’s panting by the time he reaches the battlements. maneuvering the bucket of water with only one hand turns out to be harder a task he’d predicted, leading Jaime to think if he's actually suited to help put out the fire at all. Nonetheless, he's got bigger concerns at the moment, for his heart stopped beating as soon as he saw Podrick up here, in the first line of fire. 

Everyone, when they see his burden, lets him hurry towards the fire and Jaime throws his bucket. Individually doesn't mean much, but given the collective effort, the soldiers and Jaime do believe they've managed to control the expansion of the fire. 

Then, Jaime gives out his empty bucket so it returns to the human chain created from the burning battlements and stables to the wells and back. Instead, he just grabs Podrick by the arm, pulling him back. He was just so close to the fire, Brienne herself would have suffered a heart attack upon seeing him. Thank the Forgotten Gods she’s not here, or Podrick would suffer a telling-off he’d never forget. If she could ever recover from the anxiety she’d be suffering from. 

“ _In the name of the Seven Kingdoms, what the hell you think you're doing up here?!”_ he scowls, stepping aside. This gives them both a chance to catch their breath while allowing all the soldiers to keep throwing out buckets of water. 

“Sir Brienne--” Podrick tries to explain, but Jaime interjects him with an exasperated groan. He then steps away further, taking Podrick with him too, after a gush of wind sent the fire dangerously close to their position. He was worried about Tyrion earlier, but maybe it's Podrick the one they should have kept an eye on to prevent the moron from committing suicide. 

“Did she tell you to give me a heart attack by any chance?” he scowls, fighting the urge of kicking or slapping the young lad. His next yell is addressed to every soldier and steward, however. "Get out of there, the wind's too strong!!” 

Everyone was beginning to see that, but they refused to move, as if getting to safety would prove they’d all given up on protecting the Castle altogether. It’s not until Jaime gives a direct order that the soldiers give up and retreat to a safer position. As long as there’re only material losses, they'll be alright. 

It’s early hours in the morning when the fire is put out and the worse case scenarios are averted. The smell is nauseating and the fumes have intoxicated every last person who’s worked here in the past few hours, but very few people have any remaining strength to walk and get away from the area at all. When the very last flames are finally put out, soldiers and stewards alike drop exactly where they were. Exhausted out of their minds, coughing still because of the smoke, some lean on their knees, others just lie on the ground. 

At that point, Jaime needs to confess he’s getting on a bit, but luckily, Pod’s there, per usual. With Podrick’s help, Jaime manages to walk for a bit to sit out there on the grounds outside the Castle walls, away from the smoke, the smell, the ashes. They’re all covered in stain, ashes and sweat, some of their coats and robes partially cremated from when they took unnecessary risks. 

“My Lord,” a maiden says, handing him a goblet with water. 

“Thank you," appreciates Jaime, his voice hoarse and sore. He gives Podrick the goblet first and makes sure he's drunk half of its contents before gulping down the remaining blessedly cold water. 

However, they both know if they stay here for a minute longer, they might manage to fall asleep right where they are. Jaime’s the first to stand, having two very important priorities to check on next, and that makes Podrick groan, knowing he won’t be able to shake off his remaining duties and will, eventually, accompany Jaime back into the village. 

“Come on,” says Jaime. 

Accepting Podrick’s surrender, Jaime helps him stand and they set off towards the village together. They meet soldiers, stewards, maidens, and everyone whose residence was the Castle by the side of the road, wrapped up in coats lent by the villagers, some of them look as if they'd tried to sleep out here. A few of them ask for news about the fire and can't contain their cheers when Podrick and Jaime tell them it’s been put out already without any casualties--they even get a kiss or two as a reward for the hard work. 

If Joanne hadn’t wished to ‘see the stars’ before going to bed, Brienne and Jaime would have needed much longer to see the fire burning in the Castle. They've ridden their unsaddled horses as fast as they could to raise the alarm, and fortunately, by that time, the soldiers on guard duty had already rang the bells. It was a huge chaos, people running scared everywhere, not knowing what to prioritize first, the fire or the evacuation. Jaime only needed to remind Brienne that, since people were already aware of the situation, all that was required from them was a little bit of harsh treatment to work together efficiently to put out the fire and avoid any casualties. Since Brienne is excellent at the strict kindness treatment, it was easy for her to take charge. 

Unfortunately, Jaime had to send her away for the evacuation of Lady Sansa and Lord Brandon. Before they left the Castle, Jaime made Brienne promise she’d fulfill her duties till the end, that is, protecting Lady Sansa and staying by her Queen’s side. That meant Brienne would stay well away from the tasks of putting out the fire, which in all honesty should have helped Jaime concentrate on commanding the men efficiently, but it really didn’t. He wouldn’t have bet his left hand on Brienne not returning to the Castle on the quiet in spite of her promise. Add to that the fact that Podrick also put his own life at risk, and Jaime didn’t like the odds of his heart surviving through the night at all. 

They finally meet Brienne, standing guard in front of their house. Her standing there surprises them for a second, but Jaime immediately understands that Brienne’s offered their home at the Queen’s disposal to rest comfortably and warmly throughout the night. However, even from a distance, he can also tell how much it ached Brienne to stay by her Queen's side and not return to the Castle and help her men out. 

“Are you alright?” she demands when she meets both Jaime and Podrick into her arms. She then pulls back, checking each one from head to toes, just in case. 

“We are,” promises Podrick. “No burns or any other injuries.” 

“The fire’s been put out too,” further explains Jaime, and then asks his impending question. “Joanne?” 

“Inside,” says Brienne. 

Jaime, followed by Podrick and Brienne, steps into their home. He bows to Lady Sansa and Lord Bran, and sighs upon seeing Tyrion sitting there on the floor as well. However, he lets Podrick deliver the news and give all the explanations, for Jaime heads towards one of Lady Sansa’s maidens, who’s holding little Joanne in her arms. The girl is fully asleep covered in her blankets--she felt safe enough within Lady Sansa’s care to go back to sleep. Jaime reaches out a finger to caress Joanne’s little nose and cheeks, but considering how cold his fingers are, he drops his arm to the side within seconds. 

Behind his back, Podrick’s giving a full report of tonight’s events, and so Jaime straightens, in case the lad should need a hand under so much pressure. Then again, he can fend for himself. Also, Jaime can’t help but wonder why would anyone be concerned with Lord Brandon’s presence right there on his wheelchair, since he should have been able to give a minute-by-minute report by himself. 

“We still need to assess the exact damage the Castle has gone through,” Podrick says at that moment. “The evacuation was completed and everyone’s accounted for, I assure you, but we're uncertain of the extent of the material damages.”   

“Injured?” asks Lady Sansa. 

“Impossible to tell right now, my Lady.” 

“Most soldiers are resting at the moment,” explains Jaime, stepping to Pod’s side to soothe her strongest concerns. “I saw Lady Arya safe and sound as we left, just like Gendry. Most of the soldier’s ailings will principally consist of exhaustion and dehydration, I gather, you Grace." 

“Be as it may, I need to check on them, if you allow me to, my Lady,” says Brienne, bowing her head to Sansa. But then the Queen stands and so does everyone else, chairs scratching the hardwood floor as everyone hurries to jump to their feet. 

“I shall ride back with you, sir Brienne. I want to check on the injured as well,” agrees Lady Sansa. “Ida, go find the Maester. His services are going to be required.” 

 Everyone steps aside to allow the Queen exiting the house first, although Ida, one of the maidens, does hurry outside to fulfill the task she’s been given. Podrick frees the other maiden from Joanne, careful not to wake the little girl up, and Tyrion steps closer to his brother and sister-in-law. 

“You two unscathed, then?” he demands, looking alternatively between Podrick and Jaime. 

“Of course,” the two men nod. 

“Any idea how the fire originated?” 

“Tyrion, we just put out the fire,” scowls Jaime. “We didn’t stick around long enough to investigate. Truth be told, we’re beat.” 

In the meantime, Lady Sansa, Lord Brandon, Sansa’s maidens, and the stewards have already stepped outside. The members of the family come to the door to bid farewell for the moment, agreeing to meet back in the Castle later in the morning--that won’t happen until they’ve all gotten some rest, Jaime fears. Jaime stands by Brienne’s side, and that’s how he realizes the strange position Brienne’s holding her right arm. The fact that she’s been trying not to move her hand or arm too much should have been the first sign of troubles, but he was too tired not to realize that when they met outside, Brienne was not holding onto the hilt of her sword, such an ordinary standing position for a knight. 

“Come here,” orders Jaime softly, taking Brienne’s arm. Did she ever think she could hide her pain from him and that he wouldn’t notice? 

Despite her protests, he holds her steady and, as tender as she can, rolls up her right sleeve--showing a severe burn there on the forearm. Maybe he was too distracted when they first got to the Castle, consequently wasn’t paying enough attention when Brienne got herself injured. Podrick comes closer, holding Joanne, and frowns at Brienne’s wounds. 

“Let’s have the Maester take a look at this before he returns to Winterfell,” decides Jaime, dragging Brienne back outside. Lady Sansa and the rest of the entourage hasn’t gotten too far, for the Maester has not yet been found, and some soldiers and villagers have gathered around for news about the fire. 

Podrick dashes past them and joins the entourage. He bows to Lady Sansa before stepping closer to speak to her privately. Brienne, however, is still giving Jaime a hard time. 

“It’s unnecessary. . .” 

“No, it is completely necessary. Everyone’s injuries need to be assessed,” replies Jaime, deaf to each and every one of her complaints. “In fact, this will suit the Maester better than coming and going from the Castle. If he can check your injuries right now, he can stay at the Castle for as long as he’s required to in order to tend the rest of the wounded.” 

Practicability seems to do the trick, for Brienne doesn’t struggle nor fights no more, and when they meet the Maester, she accepts to return to the house for her examination. Still, sitting on a chair surrounded by Podrick, Tyrion, and Jaime while being examined does not do well with her nerves, and Jaime can’t help but give her some reassuring words. 

“It’s all right, Brinny. You’ve done your duty by keeping the Queen safe, now it’s time for others to do theirs.” 

“Remind me again how you staying here with me instead of checking on your men is doing your duty?” she demands, glaring at him over the Maester’s shoulders. For once, Jaime--nor Podrick or Tyrion--are intimidated by one of Brienne’s glares. 

“Keeping you from harm, of course,” explains Jaime with a broad smile, but he’s still uneasy as the Maester hasn't given an assessment of Brienne's injury just yet. Seeing the concern in Brinny's face as well, Jaime tries to lighten up the mood. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good, Brinny. You might need a golden hand too.” 

“Not a chance,” scowls Brienne. 

“Why not? We could have a set,” replies Jaime. 

In the end, the Maester soothes everyone’s worries by informing that Brienne’s injury isn’t as severe as it looks, and that it’ll heal with enough time. Luckily, he says, it’s winter, and so he sends Tyrion to fetch some snow to treat the burn and then uses some bandages to wrap up the injury carefully. To sum up his visit, the Maester stands promising that he’ll return in the evening with medicinal herbs, in case they can spare them after treating the rest of the wounded. 

“Tend the soldiers and stewards first,” insists Brienne, as Jaime knew--and feared--she’d do. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I know you will, sir Brienne, but I’ll come back nonetheless.” 

“Thank you, Maester," everyone appreciates on his way out. Jaime jumps off his stool to shut the door and, when he turns around, takes a good look at every family member in the house. He literally has to hold back a laughter, that's how bad everyone looks: Brienne’s holding her arm pretending not to be in any pain; Tyrion’s got his head dropped on the dining table and looks seconds away from passing out; Podrick is sitting on a stool, back against the wall, gently rocking Joanne in his arms, and he will soon join his little sister in her sleep. 

“All right, I don’t think anyone around here should be going anywhere or fulfilling any duties or vows for the time being,” he settles. They’ll be more of a nuisance than help for Lady Sansa and the rest of the soldiers, that’s for sure. “Pod, Tyrion, you're welcome to stay and sleep wherever you can. You too need to rest, Brinny,” he insists over her complaints and struggles to get outside, “you got as much sleep as we did. And that’s an order.”

“You are not my commanding officer." 

“Let a man dream,” sighs Jaime, taking Brienne by the shoulders and dragging her upstairs. Maybe after they’ve rested for a few hours they can go back to the Castle and really give a hand out. 

Jaime carefully coaxes Brienne onto their bed and just for tonight--today--he lets her have the right side of the bed. He wants to avoid any accidental injuries in case they move in their sleep. As they lie on the bed, seconds away from unconsciousness, Jaime gently caresses Brienne’s hair, and she strokes the beard she’s already accusing of being too long to kiss comfortably without hurting. 

Yes, there were so many important lessons he could have learned from Tywin Lannister and yet, Jaime failed miserably. For example, he didn’t learn how to be a proper head of the family and protect the Lannister’s name to last over a century, maybe even more. 

But that’s alright too. If he had, he never would have left Cersei and found Brienne. He never would have fathered a daughter. He’d never have been on the brink of a breakdown over his partner and his daughter because he didn’t know exactly where they were during a huge fire raging the Castle. And, may it be right or wrong, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The joys and mild panic attacks. The laughter and worries. It’s all more than he could ever have imagined. Every night he falls asleep with a smile on his lips and wakes up with that same smile side by side with Brienne. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I thank everyone so much for the amazing feedback I've received in the form of kudos and comments... I'm so glad that you like the story!

Podrick adjusts the right spaulder, tying it tightly, and then takes a small step back. Standing in silence, he allows Brienne to check for herself his work, every component he's placed, just in case--he’d be surprised beyond belief if he’d made any mistakes. 

After a minute, she gives him an appreciative nod and then they both laugh at the same time, reminiscing. Those months where Pod served as her squire are long, long gone now, but none of them could ever forget everything they went through. That's why Podrick's still the first to volunteer to dress her whenever the chance arises, like today. 

“I see you haven't forgotten  _everything_  I taught you,” says Brienne afterwards. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” he says, bowing his head, but next he hurries to fetch her sword and tie it around her waist. 

“I fear your skills are wasted if I keep you in my service,” whispers Brienne. "Perhaps another knight could teach and train you full-time. . .” 

“There’s no need,” Podrick interjects, as humble as ever. "My current duties suit me fine, I don’t wish for more.” 

“But you have the potential of a knight, not a squire.” 

“Maybe we can discuss this again upon your return, my Lord. The Queen expects you at Winterfell.” 

Slightly annoyed by the interruption, Brienne purses her lips, seeing right through Podrick's tactic. By using her otherwise unshakable duties towards Lady Sansa, he's just avoiding the subject of his knighthood. Again. It'll happen eventually, of course, but Brienne doesn't want to risk anyone devaluating Podrick's title because she was the one to give him his knighthood. Whenever they bring the subject up, he always answers that he's not below cleaning armors, training fellow soldiers, dressing knights and carrying Winterfell's flag at official meetings--and that's just another reason why he's fitted to be a Knight. He should be aiming for so much more. . . 

Then again, he does have a point. They can discuss this subject again in a few weeks, when they return to Winterfell. Right now they’re going to be late. Per usual. 

“Jaime?” she yells. 

“Be right there!” he answers, somewhere on the second floor, making Brienne roll her eyes. 

“Saddle the horses,” she instructs Podrick, as she heads upstairs. 

In their bedroom, she finds Jaime knelt on the ground, looking for the Gods know what, and she sighs again. He’s had all the time while Podrick assembled her armor and dressed her to be ready to leave, and yet, here they are. 

“Do I even want to know?” she demands. 

“I’d like to see you off,” says Jaime, his voice muffled since he’s searching for something under the bed. 

“To do that, you only require your eyes,” Brienne reminds him in a deep sigh, "not whatever you’re looking for down there.” 

Jaime’s head shoots right up, his face all red upon his flustered state. “Well, if I’m to stand by my Queen and the whole northern army, I better look presentable!” he snaps. “My right hand would be so helpful!” 

“Oh,” Brienne stutters, understanding finally, as Jaime raises his right arm, ending in that slump covered in bandages for protection and commodity--but the golden hand is nowhere to be seen. “Have you checked the drawers?” 

Jaime’s shoulders drop as he stands, wiping the dirt off his trousers. “You know, I’ve been searching for the past thirty minutes, and that didn’t even occur to me.” 

“All right,” says Brienne, warning him with her voice and glare that he doesn’t need to be a smart-mouth with her. Before he starts apologizing, Brienne speaks, addressing someone else in the house altogether, “Joanne?” 

“Yes, Mom?” the little girl answers from the adjacent bedroom. 

“Have you seen your Father’s hand?” At that, Jaime gets up from the floor, standing by the other side of the bed, knowing he should have thought of interrogating Joanne much earlier. 

“I did nothing to it!” 

The answer makes both parents smile, but they fight to contain the laughter--they know when their daughter’s trying to hide something, and that’s not a reason to praise her. 

“Joanne, come here, please,” commands Brienne. 

Two seconds after, they hear Joanne’s quick steps leaving her room and headed towards the master bedroom. She walks quickly and yet quietly, abiding the orders just to prove she didn’t do anything wrong. 

As Brienne stands under the doorstep, Jaime goes around the bed to stand side by side. Joanne stops in front of them, avoiding their eyes, and Brienne kneels in front of their daughter. 

“That’s not what I asked, young lady,” she insists. “I asked if you’d seen your Father’s golden hand, didn’t I?” 

“Not in a while,” she answers in a whisper. 

“And where was it the last time you saw it?” presses Jaime, his voice soft and warm, to let Joanne know she didn’t commit a capital offense. Still, the little girl refuses to give them an answer, and the parents simply sigh. 

“Can you bring it here?” asks Brienne. 

Joanne nods and right after that, she heads back to her room. Brienne gives Jaime a meaningful look--he should have been smart enough to check their daughter’s bedroom as well, given her liking to that golden hand, ever since she was a baby. She sometimes even fell asleep with that hand as her company, all her toys, and stuffed animals be damned. But no, Jaime just assumed his daughter could do no wrong and spent thirty minutes making a total mess of their bedroom that he'll have to make up for. 

One minute later, Joanne returns with that golden hand and delivers it to his father. Jaime thanks Joanne for bringing it back, takes it and places it correctly, over his stump, grunting under his breath at the coldness and stiffness of the metal. Over the years, he’s had the Maester and the blacksmith work on the hand to improve the shape and comfortability, but most of the time Jaime doesn’t wear it at all--only when there’s an important and crowded event with the Queen and Lords of Winterfell, such as today. At home, he doesn’t even care about it, that’s why it can sometimes take him days at a time to realize that it’s gone. 

“Honey, you’re not in any trouble,” says Brienne, blowing some of Joanne’s hair away from her eyes, “but when you want something, you need to ask for it, not just take it without saying anything, do you understand?” 

“Yes. . .” she says sheepishly, but the three family members in the room know this isn’t the first time, nor the last, that Joanne’s taken the golden hand from her parents’ room. 

“But if you do take it, just return it whenever we have to meet the Queen,” adds Jaime, a compromise they realize will be much easier for her to abide by. Jaime barely ever has an audience with the Queen. At that, Joanne does perk up. 

“Speaking of whom, we need to meet the Queen,” Brienne reminds everyone. “Grab your coat, missus.” 

The little girl runs downstairs, giving Jaime and Brienne a few more seconds alone. And they needed them, for they find themselves, again, on the brink of an unwanted separation. Nonetheless, there’s no point in discussing the circumstances now. Jaime would lose, again, and Brienne would leave as well. It's her duty--that’s where her arguments start and also end. The only question is if Jaime would ever accompany Brienne, but his arguments begin and finish with Joanne. They do fear the day she begs her mother to take her along. 

With that in mind, they kiss briefly on the lips and then, hand in hand, join Joanne downstairs, who’s jumping from one foot to the other to fight off the cold. Podrick, in order not to freeze while he waited, has stepped inside and is entertaining Joanne with some story about the trip two years ago. This gives Brienne and Jaime plenty of time to gather their winter clothes as well and steal a few more farewell kisses in the intimacy of their home. 

Outside, a fair number of villagers have gathered around to see them off, and wish Brienne and Podrick a safe trip. Some of the closest neighbors even choose to walk down the Castle with them, and so the family decide not to mount on their horses and walk just like the rest of the entourage. This also solves the problem of Joanne choosing who to ride with, if her Mother or her sibling, as she spends the whole stroll joking and playing with some of her friends as well. This means that the stroll isn't as boring as the one Jaime and Brienne suffer every morning and evening on their way to and back from their house to Winterfell, in spite of them crossing through empty and unchanging fields due to the snow covering the whole scenery. 

“You are certain you’re not joining us?” Podrick asks Jaime at some point. “Lord Tyrion will be there.” 

“As he should be,” nods Jaime. Tyrion accepted returning into Queen Daenery’s council a few years back, when he couldn’t stand the cold anymore and, well, when the Queen requested his services. That means all their communications happen now through letters and Tyrion’s occasional visits to Winterfell. “Do try to convince him to visit his niece. Drag him by the ear if you must.” 

Podrick smiles at the subtle technique Jaime’s suggesting. “I promise I’ll talk to him.” 

"Thank you,” appreciates Jaime. 

Jokes and pleasantries end soon enough by the time they reach Winterfell. For all the villagers stay outside the Castle walls, Podrick has to find his place in the army, carrying the Winterfell’s flag, Brienne needs to check the troops, and Jaime takes Joanne to the side where they won’t bother anyone as they undergo the latest preparations. But all propriety goes out of the window as soon as Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, Lord Bran, and Gendry get a glimpse of little Joanne in his arms and come around to greet her--and also bid her farewell for now. There’s no place for a little girl in a military parade, that’s for sure. Jaime’s certain that, with the childhood they’re giving her, Joanne’s taking a liking in everything related to swords and knighthood just as much as her mother did. 

_Allied forces, maybe, but this is still a parade of strength,_ Jaime reflects, as he looks around. Lady Sansa’s taking the whole northern army to the Dragonpit, leaving behind only a small portion of the army, just in case of a very unlikely contingency--and in Jaime’s particular case, because she can’t stand him, and neither can Queen Daenerys, so it’s safer for him to stay at Winterfell. 

It’s not only Lady Sansa, though. It’s Queen Daenerys and the rest of representatives to the Seven Kingdoms--everyone present at the seemingly innocuous meeting. They’re all taking their armies in a show of power to a supposedly neutral encountering point such as the Dragon pit to discuss openly the Kingdom’s affairs. No more skeletons in the cupboard: no secret allegiances, no secret gold mines, no secret armies, no secret provisions. They all know where each other stands, everyone’s weaknesses and strengths, and so every one supplies and receives whatever it is they need for the greater good. Or, at least, that’s what everyone hopes. The system has worked for the past six years, but Jaime, just like many others, fear this is nothing more than peace through strength, waiting for another war to engage at some point in the imminent future. 

_Many of these men were born, raised and trained in times of war,_ he ponders, making sure Joanne holds on tight to the horse’s reins and his arm. No one wants to make any bets on the delicate balance of peace. 

A few minutes later, Brienne comes back, her horse standing side by side with Jaime’s, so she can take Joanne. Jaime grabs Brienne’s horse’s reins for good measure. 

“You’re leaving already, Mommy?” complains Joanne. 

“Afraid so,” Brienne whispers, kissing her daughter on the forehead. As she hugs Joanne tightly against her chest, she looks up at Jaime, who’s trying his best to put up a strong façade for everyone’s sake. Joanne seeing him forlorn will only make her even more sad, and Brienne’s soldiers simply shouldn’t see their commander officer crumbling down on the eve of their departure. “But I’ll see you again in just a few days, okay? You won’t even have the time to miss me.” 

“That’s not true,” whines Joanne. “I miss you already.” 

“Me too, sweetheart,” sighs Brienne, holding her close again. “I’ll miss you every minute I don’t have you by my side. Unfortunately, I have to go now. Do you understand why?” 

“Because you’re personal guard to the Queen,” Joanne says. 

“That’s right,” nods Brienne. 

“That only means that your mother’s place belongs to the Queen’s side and that sometimes, on official capacities, duties will force her to prioritize,” further explains Jaime, leaning closer. Brienne has tried to explain the situation to her daughter one too many times by now for her to forget the words, albeit it still doesn’t mean that the girl understands. “But it doesn’t imply that your mother loves you any less because of it.”  

Joanne nods, she’s been told and repeated so on multiple occasions, and so she lets Brienne taking her back to her father’s horse. The two parents hold hands for a few lingering seconds more and then Jaime takes Brienne’s hand to his lips, kissing and squeezing her tenderly through her gloves. 

“Safe trip, my Lord,” he whispers, keeping the farewell neutral because Brienne’s already blushed so much. 

“Stay out of trouble,” she begs. “I’ll see you very soon.” 

She pulls her horse’s reins to turn around, finding her place in the army, standing in front of Podrick. Her armor and her height make her unmistakable amongst the crowd of soldiers, as the entourage starts to advance. They leave Winterfell amid cheers and farewells from villagers and neighbors, wishing for an uneventful journey. At Joanne’s plea, although he’d have done the same hadn’t she been here, Jaime urges on his horse to follow the entourage, his eyes never leaving Brienne’s figure on her stallion. 

After a couple of miles, he needs to surrender to the cold, hard truth and lets the horse slowly come to a halt. 

“I know, honey,” Jaime whispers when Joanne’s shoulders start shivering, and he kisses her forehead. He wishes he could wipe her tears off her eyes, but she lets her cry as much as she wants, the lesson ‘Lannisters don’t cry’ another one he never wants to pass onto his own children. “I’m going to miss Mom and Podrick too.” 

They are going to be separated from Brienne and Podrick and their little family for a few weeks, and they’re going to come out to the other end unscathed. In spite of the Winterfell Castle practically emptied of soldiers, except for a few watchmen, and the strange feeling Jaime’s got in his chest that it now falls onto his shoulders to keep these villagers and his family safe. Once before he made the commitment of protecting the weak and the innocent, and the burden it came within was, at times, unbearable. 

“We are going to be just fine the two of us,” he promises, uncertain of where his confidence stems from exactly. He pulls the reins to the horse and heads back home. “Say, what do you want for dinner tonight?”


	14. Chapter 14

Music blasts as loud as the players are able to play their flutes, lyras, gittern, or the tabor. Almost as if they wanted the music reaching the Citadel itself, because, after all, celebrations are being held tonight across the Seven Kingdoms. 

The party started hours ago with a large and magnanimous feast and, given the more than generous amount of alcohol at hand, it seems like the celebrations will last till the early morning. As hours pass by, the music becomes more lively, more and more people join the dancing, and laughter bursts out louder and louder. 

Per Lady Sansa’s orders, Winterfell has opened its gates and allowed access to as many northern citizens as they wished. Laughter, dancing, jokes, and old stories fill the room as Brienne finds her way through the dining hall to find her family. 

“Brinny!” Jaime yells somewhere to her right. 

She spins and finds her whole family out there dancing--or trying to, at any rate. Jaime, Joanne, Tyrion, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, Podrick, and even Gendry have joined the dancing. In the beginning, Lady Sansa did attempt to impose some decorum, but whether it was the alcohol or the general atmosphere, she soon gave up. There’s no decency tonight. 

Jaime takes her hand and kisses her already flustered cheeks upon her drinking so much. 

“Welcome back!”

“Thank you. You having fun?” 

“I’d be if you hadn’t left me.” 

Such a melodramatic response gets Brienne scoffing and she pulls Jaime away before he tries kissing her again with all that itching stubble. A burst of high-pitched laughter makes her look down at Joanne and Tyrion dancing at their feet. She cannot stop herself. 

“Young lady, it’s past your bedtime.” 

“No! Not yet!” complain Jaime, Arya, Sansa, Tyrion, Podrick and Joanne at the same time--the little girl's high-pitched yell the loudest of them all. Brienne sighs deeply. They’ve been trying to send her off to bed for a while already, and this just might be the fight where Brienne will have to accept defeat.

“Mommy, please, just a little longer!! Everyone’s here!” 

“We’re celebrating the War where we defeated the dead and life prospered,” Tyrion remarks, way too intoxicated to be dancing with a toddler. “If tonight’s not the night to have a little fun, I don’t know when is.”

“You’ve used that War as an excuse an awful lot,” Brienne points out.

“I stand by what I said that night: we fought dead things and lived to tell the tale,” insists Jaime, dragging Brienne to their table to pour her another drink. “That is cause for celebration!”

“Jaime, Joanne does need--” 

“I know,” accepts the man before Brienne accuses him of being irresponsible where their daughter is concerned, despite the fact that by taking Brienne away he’s only giving Joanne more time to have fun with her family. “Just a couple more songs. She’s dying to dance with you. And so am I, to be honest.” 

With that, he gives Brienne the goblet of wine, but for the longest of beats, she does not drink. 

“Actually, this isn't a celebration to honor the War,” he says, resting on the table. 

“It isn’t?” asks Brienne, confused. 

“No,” replies Jaime with a big grin. He leans forward to whisper in her ear above the music by the end of the dining hall. “We should drink to the fact that Lady Sansa has just danced with me.”

“She hasn’t,” laughs Brienne. 

“Oh, she has. Ask anyone around here, they’re all witnesses,” promises Jaime. “You, unfortunately, missed it.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I don’t think there’s going to be a repeat. Wine probably had a lot to do with it when she asked me to dance.

“So, does that warrant a drink?” 

Amused and saddened to have missed that situation, and at the same time doubtful that it truly happened, Brienne gobbles down her drink. She then lets herself be dragged back towards her family and obliges Joanne's wishes to have a dance with her, despite their lack of coordination and skills. 

After so many years of peace, without any menaces coming from the North, nor threats from the Citadel either, having a family of her own. . . It’s difficult not to feel elated and joyful every day of the week and the year. Tonight is more of an excuse no one would miss to have a great feast, meet old friends, and family members. But Brienne’s heart is always celebrating and rejoicing what she’s got. 

After a few songs, Joanne herself confesses she is a little bit tired--she can scarcely keep her eyes open, her feet can barely hold her. Podrick offers to take her to the chambers, but Joanne’s holding tight to Brienne and there’s little to no chance of having her untangle from her mother. 

“I’ll see you in a minute,” she says.

Jaime joins them too, taking a spare coat to make sure Joanne doesn’t get cold. They do need to face the dead of night cold weather while crossing the bridge over the courtyard. After putting Joanne in bed in their old chambers at the Castle, Jaime and Brienne stay for some extra and unnecessary minutes, just watching their daughter sound asleep. They always do--as if they needed to make sure that Joanne is indeed safe and sound under their home back at the village. 

Music still slips in from the dining hall and at some point, Jaime takes Brienne's hand. 

“We should go,” he whispers, albeit knowing not much would wake Joanne up now. “Come on, the night’s still young.” 

With a smile on her lips, Brienne leads the way out of the chambers to resume the conversation about them spending a whole night celebrating, dancing, and drinking. She’s not exactly against going back to the dining room, especially if there’s the slightest chance of seeing Lady Sansa and Jaime dancing again; it’s just, she just doesn’t enjoy these gatherings as much as everyone else does. 

Jaime doesn’t allow her to complain about how tired she is too. He pulls her to the side and takes a complicated detour to the dining hall, walking up various stairs and battlements. When he stops, spins on his heels, and faces Brienne, she’s got no chance to wonder where they are or ask what they’re doing here, for Jaime’s lips crash against her without prior warning. All reasoning and coldness and any other feelings vanish from her mind right there and then as Jaime pins her against the wall. 

“Don't get m wrong, we're still going back to the party,” Jaime promises softly, his lips grazing against her. “But I wanted to celebrate this as well.” 

He doesn't elaborate and Brienne opens her eyes, waiting or looking for some explanation. She gets answers in the form of the place they are: the exact same spot where, years ago, they stood when the War ended. Right when the battle was darkest and the two of them, alongside with Podrick, were fighting almost without hope, back to back, but then the dead stopped fighting and dropped. 

Barely breathing, Jaime and Brienne stood there for the longest time too, their weapons held high just in case, wary. But then they did drop their weapons, and exhaustion, despair, fright, and the Gods know what else, pushed Brienne to kiss Jaime. They froze and never spoke of it again as Brienne left to check on Podrick and every other soldier injured and dead, but Jaime remembered. She remembered. Of course, they did. 

“Why did you just do that if you wanted me to go back to the party and not back home?” she scowls, hiding against Jaime's chest. 

“Well, that’s easy--you still owe me a dance. I’m not leaving Winterfell till you give me that.”

“Then, let's go,” orders Brienne. 

“Lead the way,” agrees Jaime, taking a step back to give her room. 

But, as Brienne tried to pull away, he just needs to taste her lips again, and pins her against the wall once more. Brienne laughs against his lips, figuring it’s going to be a big leap of strength to actually join their friends and family back at the party. 

Somehow, they make it, somewhere in the next thirty minutes, and although people might have noticed their absence, the party went on without problems: the singing, the music, the dancing, the wine, it all kept going nonetheless. 

Jaime first stops by their table to refill their drinks, offering Brienne her goblet back. 

“Bottoms up,” he says. He finishes his whole drink too and then rests on the table, staring down at Brienne from head to toes. A big grin on his lips upon the anticipation of dancing with Brienne--and everything else that might come afterwards. “Just say the word and we’ll go out there; have a little bit of fun.”

Brienne rests on the table as well, side by side with Jaime, their arms in touch, without any hurry to finish her drink now. She sees what Jaime meant. She won’t be gracious at dancing and they both know that, but it doesn’t matter, for it seems no one can dance at all out there. It’s only a celebration. 

Because they survived every battle they put themselves in, they survived the War against the dead and got another chance at life. They’re alive, they've got a family, they've got a future, and that’s what’s supposed to thrive and be celebrated here amongst friends and family. Yes, she can find it within herself the willingness to dance with Jaime and the rest of her family here in the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that that first kiss wasn't technically canon, but then again, few things in s8 are. . . Hope you liked the chapter, and again, thank you for reading !


	15. Chapter 15

A gust of wind slams a door shut, startling Jaime. He almost jumps off his seat, looking around in fright to find any cause for distress or danger. But he’s all alone in the chambers, no one’s been to visit him all afternoon long, no one’s stepped in to deliver any news. 

He now realizes he’s standing in complete darkness, too, except for the dim moonlight coming through the balcony. And hungry and cold, while he’s at it. He’s spent hours inside the chambers, just in case Brinny needed him at some point, but she hasn’t even come back yet. 

Jaime rubs his eyes, wiping the tears out of tiredness he finds at the corners, and stands, his joints aching just a bit. He walks in circles around the chambers to warm himself up with a little bit of movement. Stewards all around the castle are busy enough with everything else going on to attend a maimed soldier lighting a fire, so instead of wasting time trying to light candles and the chimney, he just leaves the chambers to search for a warm place to settle. 

The closest place he can think of is the dining hall. He walks past some soldiers on his way there, but no one addresses him a glance or a word. Despite it’s nearly dinnertime, there’s not the usual racket and jabbering coming from the hall. Not many men seem up to gather to eat, albeit they seem to forget that eating and drinking is still a basic human need for one and all. There’re only two men scattered at the dining hall, and Jaime fails to find any signs that they’ve eaten at all. 

Getting a meal isn’t a priority for Jaime either, as he finds himself a seat close to the fireplace and drops dead. A solicitous stewardess approaches to offer him dinner, and Jaime only takes the jar of wine she carried, declining any meals too. The girl is not as put out as Jaime’d feared--he figures she’s been dismissed a lot, by a lot of people, these past few days. 

After all, Lord Selwyn has fallen seriously ill, and everyone’s waiting for the worst--even though, publicly, everyone hopes for the best still. Jaime hurried with Brienne to get to the Sapphire Island as fast as they could to offer his emotional support in such dire and difficult times, leaving Joanne behind with Podrick, Lady Sansa, and the rest of the family that’ll take care of her. But Jaime’s beginning to think he should have brought Tyrion or maybe even Podrick too, for his personal emotional support. 

The raven came two days after the anniversary, when they were still drunk after the celebrations, but all traces of joy vanished as soon as Brienne read the few lines of the missive. It’s been some very difficult couple of weeks, and he’s certainly failing his duties towards Brienne--again. 

A few men come in from the entrance by the north side and Jaime looks up, abhorring and yet appreciating any sort of company and distractions. But when they step in, they only nod at him and sit down at a table to his left, two of them sitting with their backs facing him, far enough to let Jaime know he’s not included in their conversation. 

However, Jaime believes he knows one of the men, and stands to see his face clearly at the warm light of the chimney. Yes, he’s right, that man is. . . Whatever his name is, he’s the advisor and consultant Brienne’s been glued to these past weeks. She is, in fact, supposed to be in a meeting with the man. 

“May I help you?” demands the man brusquely. 

“Where’s Lord Brienne?” asks Jaime. 

“I left her at Lord Selwyn’s chambers. I’m not sure if she’s there still.” 

Damn the Seven, Jaime scowls internally, dashing off without another word. He wanted to be there in case Brinny went searching for him and needed him, and he hopes he didn’t fail at helping Brienne once more. 

He stops first by their chambers, but he doesn’t need to open the door; there’s no light from candles or the fireplace coming from the chambers. He keeps running towards Lord Selwyn’s chambers, and up there, a soldier forbids him access. 

“Let me through, boy,” scowls Jaime, not fearing for one second the fact that the guard’s got his hand on the tilt of his sword. The chances of him winning a fight are slim, but it’ll never come down to that--not now. 

“The Maester has ordered Lord Selwyn not to be disturbed.” 

“Is Lord Brienne with her Father?” 

“No, she isn’t, sir.” At least the boy doesn’t refuse to answer him that. “She left a few minutes ago.” 

“And you wouldn’t happen to know where she is now, would you?” 

“No, I don’t. Sorry, sir.” 

Jaime smiles at the amount of information he was willing to give him and because of the courteous treatment. Years later, not that many people use the proper titles as ‘Lord’ or ‘sir’ to address him here at Evenfall Hall. Still, it’s not as bad as the treatment he received on his first visit here with Brienne to meet Lord Selwyn. Not that he’s risked his neck more than necessary, on the other hand. 

After questioning five more soldiers and four maidens, Jaime still can’t figure out where in the Seven Kingdoms has Brinny left off to. He starts to conclude she’s nowhere inside the Castle, despite the late hour. With very few remaining options, Jaime takes his sword, out of habit, and leaves Evenfall Hall as well. 

Someone has taken the time to lit torches out in the grounds. It confirms the suspicions that Brienne has indeed left the Castle--not that many stewards would bother lighting torches for anyone except for Brienne--and he follows the trail of light. 

The torches lead him down to the beach. At first he sees no one, and it’s too dark to see any trails walking on the rocks. But then he sees a clothes scattered all over, and the sounds of splashing water reach him, and he looks down towards the shore. 

Brienne’s naked, pale figure against the moonlight catches his breath, the tranquil water reaching her just above the thighs. Years later, his heart still skips a beat whenever his eyes fall on her naked body. 

Without really ever making the decision or ordering his hand to do so, Jaime finds himself dropping his sword and taking off his own clothes too.

He steps into the sea, swallowing a yelp upon the frozen temperature. Brienne doesn’t turn around at all as Jaime makes his way towards her, but when he finally stands by her side, he sees the smallest smile on her lips. He takes it as a personal success. This is the first genuine smile she’s shown ever since landing here at the island, except for whenever she tried convincing Jaime and everyone else that she’s coping alright. 

“You’re crazy,” scowls Jaime, shivering dramatically. She’s dived whole into the water, judging by her wet hair and her whole body dripping water. 

“And hello to you too,” chuckles Brienne, taking his hand. She looks down at the horizon, and Jaime follows her eyes, staring at ocean stretching as far as the sight goes, the moonlight glimmering on the water. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

He’s been saying so almost every day since they came here, but it still won’t be enough. It’ll never be enough, what with everything Brienne’s suffering. She squeezes his hand tighter, and Jaime allows her to use as much strength as she needs to, if it’s to partially release some of the stress she’s endured for so long. 

“Did I ever tell you that I once sailed close to Tarth?” he says. 

“No, you never mentioned that,” says Brienne, her voice a bit amused now. “When?” 

“Years back. On my way to Dorne, to save Myrcella,” he explains, the thought of his daughter murdered so long ago, dead right in his arms, no longer bringing tears to his eyes. However, Brienne still reaches a hand to cup Jaime’s cheek. “Quite an unremarkable piece of island. . .” 

His lip doesn’t get much of a chance to shine today, since Brienne splashes him with freezing water. He swallows some of it and he steps back for air, tripping on his own feet, and diving whole into the water. In shock, he feels Brienne’s hands on his arms, pulling him out. Upon resurfacing to open air, Jaime spits the water he’d swallowed and gasps for air. 

“You’re insulting my birth home, in case you failed to notice,” Brienne excuses her actions, standing there unfathomable as he gasps and coughs. 

“Duly noted. Shutting up,” says Jaime, wiping his face and chin, still a little bit out of breath. Brienne, dropping the façade now, giggles under her breath and leans to hold his shoulder and hold him steady. He spits some more water and straightens. “I don’t think I knew back then, however.” 

“Knew what?” 

“That I loved you,” he says, saving the distance between them. However romantic or cheesy he wanted to be, the spell is broken by Brienne bursting out laughing. It does lift his spirits as well, thinking he can still make her happy and make her laugh. 

“No, I believe it took you quite longer to figure that out,” she says. 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing so much,” he scoffs. “It’s not as if you knew we’d be here, with a family, the moment we’d met.” 

Brienne tilts her head, unable to contradict Jaime’s statement. They stare silently at each other under the moonlight, with awe and longing, for a few seconds more, until Jaime shivers again--and he’s not pretending this time. 

“Let’s get out of here before we freeze to death.” 

“Whining again--what a shock,” scoffs Brienne with a roll of eyes. However, he offers her his arm and she takes it to find their way back to shore. Jaime almost forces Brienne to run so they can find faster their dry and warm clothes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you everyone for all your feedback and your patience !! I've already finished the remaining chapters of this work and I'll be publishing them throughout the week. . . Hope you enjoyed my work!

“No! No, Poppy, stop that! Let's go!”

Joanne stirs the reigns, but the horse remains unfathomable and she just keeps eating on the grass. Podrick, on his own stallion, stops by their side and caresses Poppy’s crin, with the same results as a response. At that, he just shrugs, laughs, and kicks his horse to meet Brienne, ten feet from them. 

“Pull the reigns,” instructs Jaime. Holding both of Joanne's hands in his one, her holding the reigns, he pulls once, authoritatively, and Poppy raises her head. After Jaime kicks his legs, the horse starts walking, then trotting, towards the awaiting Brienne and Podrick. 

After the one small incident, the excursion proceeds without a problem, Jaime nudging and instructing Joanne now and then, keeping a tight hold on Poppy with his good hand and keeping Joanne close to his chest with the other. Crossing the high lands surrounding Winterfell, which Joanne still had to visit--Jaime himself hadn't had the time or the opportunity to take a horse around the kingdom. He's studied the geography, but not seen it first-hand yet. 

“Hey, Jo-Jo, want to race?” suggests Podrick at some point--they'd been enjoying the morning a bit too much. 

The little girl looks up at her father for permission, but Podrick doesn't give Jaime a chance to refuse, or even to accept. 

“See if you can keep up!” he says, kicking his horse and dashing forward, going past Brienne in just a few strides. 

“Hey, careful there, Pod!!” yells Brienne. But when Jaime dashes past by her the next second, with Joanne giggling delightfully in his arms, she just sighs and shakes her head at the three stupid children in her family. She watches the two horses getting further and further away into the distance, into the fog. . . And then kicks Floppy and joins the race too, unable to stop herself. 

“Good God, how can you stand riding on horseback for so many hours?” Joanne complains as Brienne helps her down. “My arse is sore!” 

“You get used to it after a while,” promises Brienne. 

“Plus, it beats walking everywhere, trust me,” nods Jaime, exchanging one knowing look with Brienne, who hides her laugh in a coughing fit. 

“Let’s go for a walk, you’ll feel better,” suggests Podrick, taking Joanne’s hand. 

The proposal was to distract the little girl for a while as well as providing Jaime and Brienne some minutes of privacy, which they thank Podrick for. Sitting side by side on the shade of a tree, they share, sip by sip, a bag of wine and enjoy the cold breeze blowing on their faces and hair. 

Around midday, they pull to a stop. Morning’s been a carefree stroll, stopping now and then whenever Joanne wanted or whenever her mother wanted to show her a specific landmark, and they’re not truly tired--but they are hungry, and Joanne’s been complaining for a while already. As Brienne shows Joanne how to light a fire, Podrick, with a bit of help from Jaime, unloads the food they’ve brought for their lunch out. Soon enough they’re lying carefree on the grass, laughing at stupid jokes and anecdotes, some amiss by poor Joanne. 

“Well, Podrick, grab your sword,” orders Brienne after a while, standing. “You’re not skipping a training day.” 

“Come on, we were supposed to be off duty for the whole day,” complains Jaime, who hasn't moved from his spot, since Joanne's resting on his stomach. 

“This is not a duty, just a commitment,” replies Brienne sternly. “You skip a single day and you’re setting a bad precedent. Come on, why did you take your sword if not for this?” 

“I don’t know,” confesses Podrick. “Out of habit, I guess.” 

Jaime smiles proudly at the response, glad to see that Brienne’s training and hammering on the poor lad has at least sowed some positive results. He and Joanne shift positions to get some good front-row seats of the show as Pod and Brienne both draw their swords. 

“Take your stand,” commands Brienne. 

For all the Gods, present and past, Podrick’s gotten quite good--Brienne’s training, however harsh, has proven very successful. Given his condition, Jaime’s not certain who would win in a fair fight. Podrick might give him a run for his money. 

He swallows back all of his remarks, especially because, by his side, Joanne looks at them both with awe and admiration. She’s sitting up now, arms around her legs, and looks as twitchy and excited as Podrick and Brienne. Feeling the same thrill Jaime used to feel while witnessing a fight, any fight. Taking into account she was raised amongst soldiers, and how many of her parents’ stories involve battles and wars, there was no wonder their daughter would enjoy fighting as much as she does. 

However, she’s aware of her father’s stare, for at some point she looks down and picks up the hem of her dress. Jaime returns to look at the duel, hoping he wasn’t embarrassing his daughter by staring at the beautiful blond girl, and then she takes his good hand. 

“I’m bored,” she lies--for his sake? “Can we go take a walk?” 

“Yes, sure thing, my princess,” nods Jaime, jumping to his feet. He drags Joanne with him and they leave without saying a word--wouldn’t want to cause any injuries on the fighters by distracting them at the worse possible moment. 

Hearing Pod and Brienne groan and gasp behind them, their swords crashing time and time again, Jaime and Joanne get farther and farther away, until a moment where the wind and their own breathing and footsteps are all they hear. Not a hurry in the world, Jaime stops now and then to point at a certain flower, quizzing Joanne for its name. She gets them all right, although he wouldn't truly know, and perhaps Joanne is aware of that too. 

They reach a stream and kneel to drink a bit and freshen their faces. Joanne's shrieks raise in the sky when Jaime, jokingly, splashes her with the cold water--luckily they're safely away from Brienne for her not to hear her daughter yelling and getting scared--and soon enough it's become a full-out battle. Within minutes they're soaking wet and Jaime suggests they should lie down to dry their clothes before they meet Joanne's mother again. 

Of course, Joanne’s too young to just keep put for too long, and within minutes she leaves her father's side and starts running off in circles, from one spot to another, back to the first, then off to a third spot somewhere. Jaime keeps an attentive eye on her, but as she never goes too far away, he relaxes. 

As a matter of fact, he actually manages to doze off for a bit, despite the fact that Brienne would literally chop his head if she ever knew. He was just so relaxed and comfortable that he couldn't stop himself. 

“Father!” 

He's startled, pulling up to a sitting position right away, instinctively reaching for his sword. Nowadays he cherishes and rejoices that word, but before, for a long time, if anyone addressed him like that it would mean the end of his life, Cersei's life, and their three children's lives too. But, upon seeing little Joanne and her broad smile in front of him, that curly blond hair of hers, his heart beats again. 

“Look!” she says, showing a small bouquet of flowers.

“That's very beautiful,” he praises. “Is it for your Mom?” 

“This one is,” she nods, raising the white flower--Brienne's favourite color, perhaps because of the purity and duty it entails. Joanne then raises a lilac flower. “This is for Podrick. And this one is for you, because of your hand.” 

She gives him the yellow sunflower and, just a bit surprised and moved by the detail, he takes it. He smells it, then entwines it in his cloak, visible against the dark piece of clothing. 

“Thank you very much. I love it,” he says, giving Joanne a kiss on the nose. “I think they'll be finished by now, should we get back?” 

“Okay!”

With Joanne on his shoulders, carrying the small bouquet of flowers, they make their way back to the camp--and fair enough, Podrick and Brienne have already ended the sparring session. They find them sitting on the grass around the fire, sharing a bag of wine. Brienne drops it as soon as she sees Joanne approaching, welcoming the girl into her arms and hugging her tightly. Jaime watches the scene as he settles down beside Podrick, grabbing the wine. 

“What do you have there, sweetheart?” asks Brienne, pointing at the bouquet of flowers that Joanna’s holding. 

The little girl giggles delightfully and presents her mother and Podrick with their own flowers. They both also accept the present gracefully and with great ceremonies lay their flowers on their coaks, with some help from Joanna herself. She then sits down too, watching them all sporting, proudly, her flowers. Soon enough, however, she's distracted by something else--that is, the barrel of wine they're all sharing. 

“Can I try some of that?” asks Joanne, interested only because her father is. 

“I’m not sure you’ll like it,” replies Jamie, instead of giving Joanne a straight negative answer that might have upset her. He lets the girl smell the wine and she grimaces instantly--to the amusement of her parents and sibling. After that, Jaime puts the wine away and soon after they decide to finally return to Winterfell. 

“Let me help you, Daddy!” says Joanne when she sees her father struggling with the horse’s saddle. 

“Very good, give your old man a hand,” accepts Jaime, pulling her up. With some very few indications from him, Joanne manages all on her own. “You want to ride with Mom on the way back?”

“Yes!” says the girl as Jaime puts her back on the ground--she leaves to go to her mother. At Joanne’s back, Jaime makes sure the saddle is properly tied, with some help from Podrick, just in case. 

Brienne and Joanne, up in her majestic white stallion, lead the way back, with Podrick and Jaime chatting about behind. All of them sport the flowers they’ve been given by Joanne--she herself is carrying one of the spares over her coat.


	17. Chapter 17

The high temperature at the foundry is suffocating and almost unbearable, but still nicer than the severe storm falling outside. Jaime breathes better now, and uses his teeth to take his gloves off, his hand shimmering in the fires lit all around the place. 

He walks by blacksmiths and apprentices, hammers clashing, fires crackling. His advance goes unnoticed by one and all--or rather, no one’s too concerned by his presence there, whatever his goals are. He’s come to accept and relish anonymity up here in the North, to be quite honest. 

In his usual corner, working alone, sweat dripping from his shoulders and staining his shirt at the back and armpits, Jaime finds Geubert. The man smiles at him drops the hammer he was working with at the moment and wipes his forehead with his glove, leaving a black stain on his face. 

“I was just about to send for you,” he says. 

“So, you’ve got it?” asks Jaime, enthralled. 

“Right here.” 

Beaming, Jaime can’t help but look over Geubert’s shoulder as the man rummages through some shelves. After a couple of moments, he turns around holding something hidden under a blanket. Jaime smiles broadly as Geubert presents him with a small, short, sharp sword, just like Arya’s Needle--that’s where he got the idea from, as a matter of fact. She manages pretty efficiently with that little thing, he figured Joanne would prove to be just as potentially deadly as Lady Arya. 

“Magnificent,” he praises. He takes the sword and assesses its balance and weight, holding it against his golden hand--the light of Geubert’s fire shimmering on the impeccable blade and his hand as well. “A fine job indeed.” 

“Thank you, My Lord. Certainly hope it’ll please little Joanne too.” 

“I’m sure it will,” promises Jaime, dedicating Geubert an appreciative nod, before he returns to admiring the fine blade. 

“Jaime!!” a powerful voice yells from the end of the room. 

The shriek startles Jaime so much that he drops the blade and so, he’s unable to return it to the blacksmith in time to at least pretend in front of Brienne. He cannot come up with an appropriate excuse, either. 

“Brinny!” he greets warmly, clearly trying to stall her, as she picks up the blade from the ground. 

“My Lord,” Geubert greets, bowing his head at Brienne, albeit he cannot hide his surprise at Jaime’s behavior. However, he’s smart enough to tell something’s amiss, and that a storm much worse than the snowfall outside is about to pour down their heads. “I’ll be back in a minute, if you need me.” 

_Smart man,_ sighs Jaime, as Brienne examines the sword he’d dropped. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s this?” demands Brienne. 

Feigning innocence, Jaime looks down on the blade. “You’re a bit too trained in knighthood not to know a sword when you see one,” he says. 

“Is it for Joanne?” 

At Jaime not daring to give her a straight answer, Brienne storms out of the foundry, and Jaime follows, head dropped, knowing she is nowhere near done yelling and scolding him. They’d talked about giving Joanne a real blade without ever reaching a compromise, so Jaime just went ahead and did precisely what Brienne told him not to do. Oh, she’s going to chop his head off this time. Possibly with that same blade. 

He follows her through the courtyard, barely keeping up her pace, not knowing where in the world she’s headed for this argument--there’s no way they can make it back home without talking it out. 

“Brinny, listen--”

“ _No, I will not!”_ she shrieks before he puts in any other words. “We said we’d wait.”

“And I did wait. Weeks,” promises Jaime. “Weeks of having our daughter disappearing from her lectures, running off without telling anyone and finding her down at the training grounds, either enjoying the show or, the Gods forbid, asking the soldiers to teach her. I can’t take it anymore, and I don’t think she can, either.” 

“She shouldn’t be training in the first place, Jaime!” 

“Come on, she got it from you. Are you really going to stop her from training if that’s what she wishes to do?” 

“We’re her parents, we’re supposed to be the ones telling her what she’s to do!” 

“And as my late Father did with me, I suggested we reached a compromise: we’d let Joanne start training, only after she complies with her hours of studying, reading, writing, and everything else the Maester puts her through.” 

Brienne bits her lower lip, again. Just like every time they’ve had this discussion, she simply cannot find any counterargument against that suggestion from Jaime. Even coming from Tywin Lannister, it’s as good advice as any. Albeit he reckons maybe the person who came up with that kind of advice is the reason why Brienne can’t bring herself to trust that suggestion. 

Instead of saying anything, Brienne spins around and keeps on walking--running, more like it. Jaime, after a deep sigh, goes after her again. She chooses to enter the Castle, which Jaime appreciates, for he left the foundry in such a hurry that he forgot his damned gloves in there. 

Brienne finds an empty room and shuts the door behind Jaime, who swallows back a complaint concerning the burnt-out fireplace. Brienne, for her part, rests a hand against his chest and pulls him in, speaking in whispers. The smallest beacon of hope comes when Jaime realizes Brienne took the time to lean the blade against the wall and didn’t just drop it on the ground, or tossed it out of the window. 

“How can I make you understand that I don’t want Joanne to suffer the same humiliation I went through in my youth?” asks Brienne--a plea, really, that only confuses Jaime even more. He’d never even considered the possibility. 

“Are you mad? She’s never going to suffer any of that. _Please, Brinny!_ Look where you are: personal guard to the Queen in the North! Women who wish to fight and join armed forces are no longer mocked or sneered at, you set that precedent. Daenerys’s doing certainly helped in that regard, too. Also, anyone who dares to raise their voice to her will have to go through me and, more worrying, through Podrick and you, so I think she’s safe on that regard. 

“Joanne could be the best fighter in the whole Seven Kingdoms--and she’ll be recognized for that.” 

“I don’t want her to be the best fighter in--” 

Jaime tilts his head at her, with an amused, funny expression that stops Brienne from finishing that complaint. “Could it be that you’re scared she might be a better swordswoman than you are?” 

At that, Brienne can’t help but bursting out laughing. It’s just such a stupid question, she cannot stay mad at Jaime anymore--which turns to be one of Jaime’s easiest strategies to get out of scolding and berating from her. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” she scoffs then with a roll of eyes. Given enough practice, who’s to say that Joanne cannot fulfill her father’s legacy to be the best swordsman in all Seven Kingdoms. But the fact that Brienne should feel insecure at all about her own daughter’s prospects at fighting, it’s ridiculous. 

Knowing the worst is over, feeling the change in Brienne’s state of mind, Jaime dares resting his hands on her lower back and to pull her closer. 

“I know you worry. But everything’s going to be OK. We’ve been at peace since before she was born,” he whispers against her ear. “The chances of her actually fighting in any real battle are slim, to say the least." 

"Don't be naïve, Jaime! There are always battles to fight. You should know that better than anyone else." 

"Then what better way to prepare her for those battles to come, than training her?" Jaime retorts. 

She shakes her head, her mind still buzzing with doubts and worries, but none escapes her lips. They couldn’t, for Jaime chooses then to kiss her, deeply, and next thing she knows, she’s giggling against his lips and stubble. 

“Will you train her?” she begs in a whisper. 

“I think you might be a slightly more qualified a trainer than I am,” he says, tilting his head at her. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Jaime nods to prove he knows exactly what Brienne meant. This was something that could have been predicted ever since Joanne was two years old and started to show signs of which one was going to be her dominant hand. As soon as she began writing with her left hand, it all clicked in. Jaime losing his fighting hand all those years back finally paid off and it meant that he could help his daughter in so many areas. 

Certainly, that meant bad news for him too: it gave an excuse to enroll Jaime in Joanne’s lectures, and he had to endure a few writing lessons with his daughter to improve his handwriting. About a fortnight later, he gave up on them, after a chat Jaime and the Maester had. To this day, both men still deny there were any threats or coercion involved, but they do not speak of it. 

After all that, it’s only common sense that he’d be the one to help Joanne learn how to fight with her left hand. However, whatever her dominant hand is, that doesn’t mean Brienne stops being Joanne’s mother, either. 

“We both will,” he says. 

He looks down on the forgotten blade, leaning against the wall, and smiles proudly as he takes it again, presenting the sword to Brienne. This time, she can bring herself to admire the work of the blacksmith, and an equally broad smile appears on her lips too. 

“Come on, let’s save our daughter from those dreadful lectures and give her the good news,” suggests Jaime. “Together.” 

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Brienne nods a couple of times. Tears--of joy, Jaime hopes--appear on the corners of her eyes, and Jaime reaches to wipe those off her eyes with his thumbs. As he looks up at her, at that beaming face, Jaime briefly wonders if that’s the exact expression she once had in her youth, when her Father was wise enough to grant her the wish of training with the other regular soldiers. Oh, what Jaime wouldn’t give now just to see Brienne’s face on that day. 

“I wonder if she’ll like her present,” jokes Brienne, making Jaime, in turn, burst out laughing, too.


	18. Chapter 18

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks for the umpteenth time.

“I just want to sleep,” insists Joanna, resting her little head on the pillow, tired eyes--although Jaime can't help but wonder if it's all a scheme to get him out of the bedroom sooner. He's spent all day long finding excuses to see her every once in a while, at her lectures, lunch, and training, and perhaps she's just tired of his pestering. On the second hand, however, she's been coughing and pale white since morning, so maybe she really is coming down with something. And that's why Jaime finds it so immensely difficult to leave her side. 

“Call us if you need anything,” says Brienne, dragging Jaime out by the arm. “We'll leave a candle burning outside. Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Back in their chambers, Jaime finds it very hard to say a word. He throws another log onto the fire, pretending and failing not to stare at Brienne over the shoulder as she undresses and changes, still making her, so many years later, blush under his stare. After changing, he climbs into bed as well, the left side, so he can reach out for Brienne, caress her skin and scars, travel down her stomach and thighs to her entrance, hold her hand whenever nightmares attack him. This time, however, that touch isn't going to help matters. 

“Try to sleep,” whispers Brienne after the longest of silences. 

“I can’t,” replies Jaime, as stubborn as Joanne herself. “What if--?” 

“Children get sick,” she interjects. “Thought children suffered colds back in King’s Landing too.” 

“Of course they do. But they don’t have to endure a cold in these freezing temperatures.” 

“Seldom northern children die of common colds nowadays.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

“She’s going to be alright,” promises Brienne, taking Jamie’s hand and kissing his palm. “Even if she does get sick, it’ll be a matter of days before she’ll be brand new. Every child goes through this. Every parent gets through it, too.”

Jaime sighs deeply, leaning his head against Brienne's shoulder. They hear Joanne coughing again and Brienne has to stop Jaime from leaving the bed to attend to their daughter. 

“How naive I was,” he sighs deeply, “thinking that since I'd already fathered three children, another one wouldn't be so much of a--” 

“Handful?” provides Brienne, making them both laugh softly. 

“In a way,” agrees Jaime. “But I never felt like this before, with any of my children. I. . . I feel like the world’s going to end if she gets worse throughout the night.” 

“You were never given the chance to be a father for any of your children,” Brienne points out. “You saw them grow, you did your best to protect them from evil for your title, but. . . You were never their father, Jaime. You cannot compare what you had with Cersei with what you have now.” 

“You’re right,” nods Jaime, snuggling ever closer to Brienne, nose against the side of her neck, his stubble tickling her, breathing her scent. “It doesn’t even come close. I love you. I will kill for you and Joanne. I will never let anything take you from me--not even a freaking cold.” 

“Good,” approves Brienne. “Then don’t let a cold take you from me either.” 

“I won’t,” promises Jaime. 

At that, Brienne kisses him deeply, surrounding him with her arms to keep him in place when Joanne's coughing fit rises again. But once more, Jamie's concern over their daughter grows, and he cuts the kiss too short. Knowing all she can do right now is keeping Jaime with her on the warm bed, she just holds him against her chest, a wave of satisfaction running down her spine as he sighs and surrenders. This right here, against Brienne's chest, is one of his favorite places to sleep in. 

Be as it may, there was no way in the world he could have kept his word tonight. Brienne falls asleep rather quickly, the result of spending the morning training with the soldiers, attending meetings and lunch with her Queen and then worrying over Jaime worrying over Joanne. But sleep evades Jaime, for he remains restless on the bed, his nerves getting worse by the minute as Joanne keeps coughing with that weak voice of hers, unable to fall asleep either. 

After a while, he cannot take it any longer and ever so slowly, as not to wake Brienne, leaves the bed. Putting on some casual clothes and pouring one glass of water from the sink, he steps outside the bedroom, the candlelight almost burnt out already, and knocks gently on Joanne's room. 

“Not better yet, sweetie?” he asks softly as he opens the door. 

He's startled by Podrick's presence in the bedroom, lying on the bed with Joanne, a book on his lap, a candle lit so he can read in whispers to Joanne. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, resting on Joanne's bed. Podrick simply shrugs and looks down on Joanne, her head resting against his arm, a tired and ill-fated look on her eyes. Poor Podrick hasn't gotten any more sleep than the little girl or Jaime. 

“Here you go, sweetie,” says Jaime, offering Joanne his glass of water after checking she’d already finished her own glass. As he kisses his daughter on the forehead, he can't help but get anxious upon noticing her temperature even higher than last night. She barely reacts as he settles on the bed too. 

After making sure the three of them are comfortable and properly tucked in, Podrick resumes his reading, interrupted now and then by Joanne's coughing. She dozes off now and then, but doesn't get the chance to actually fall asleep. 

Gods know how much later, even Podrick manages to doze off and Jaime takes the book from Podrick’s hands and takes his turn reading. His voice low, measured and comforting, in time Joanne shifts on the bed to rest against his arm, holding onto his stump on the right hand. 

Throughout his reading, Jaime looks up from the pages now and then to check in on Podrick and Joanne, but both have managed to fall sound asleep, and every time he stops reading and hears their deep breathings, Jaime smiles. 

Dawn comes before he knows it, finding Jaime not asleep yet. Suddenly the door creaks open, Brienne resting on the threshold as she stares down at the three family members lying on Joanne’s bed. 

Jaime looks down on Joanne and Podrick to make sure they’re still asleep. He puts the book down and stands to meet Brienne. 

“What did we talk about?” she whispers. 

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stand by while hearing her coughing constantly,” says Jaime. 

“Did you invite Pod too?” 

“Actually, he was already here when I came in.”

“And you didn’t think he could handle Joanne and her cold?” 

“Well, I was already up--” 

Brienne chuckles softly, looking over Jamie’s shoulder to make sure the sound didn’t wake either Joanne or Podrick up. Even Jaime holds his breath for a couple of seconds until they make sure no misfortunes have occurred. 

“Give me that book,” commands Brienne lovely. “You go get some rest. Apparently, we’re all going to be late today for training.” 

They exchange the book for a quick peck on the lips and then Brienne steps into the room, leaving Jaime just enough space to step outside. Jaime lingers on the threshold looking after her as she carefully climbs on the bed--exchanging places too, Jaime standing where Brienne was moments ago, Brienne lying where he was lying by Joanne's side. She also starts reading, but after a few seconds she looks up, expectantly, at Jaime, and he knows that’s his queue to leave already. He nods in farewell and shuts the door. 

On his way to the master chambers, fighting back a yawn, he hears a knock on the door. He freezes, in shock--it’s way too early for social visits, and for the Seven, he hopes it’s not really bad news. They do not need any right now. 

“Morning,” Arya greets him joyfully when he opens the door. 

“Morning. What’s happened?” he demands, looking around for more soldiers, stewards, perhaps horses to take him and Brienne to wherever the emergency took place. But she’s all alone, carrying a small bag over her shoulder. The village is quiet, no one on sight, so they’re not under attack either. 

“Joanne’s got a cold,” Arya states. 

“Yes, I am aware of that, thank you very much, my Lady. What’s happened?” demands Jaime, still confused by the early conversation. 

“The Maester thought you could use some things,” says Arya, dropping the bag on the floor. “I have here plenty of blankets and medicines to spare.” 

“And you brought all this yourself?” asks Jaime in shock, checking the contents of the bag. 

“Is that disbelief I’m hearing?” she demands. 

“No, of course not,” scoffs Jaime. It’s not that he thought it’d be a dangerous path for Arya to travel by herself, but rather, he’s touched by her concern and that she should go out of her way this early in the morning just to deliver some medicines. He takes the bag, surprised by its weight, and checks its contents. “ Hold on, why would Joanne need so many medicines?” 

“Not just for her,” replies Arya. “According to Bran, you’re coming down with a cold too, and Brienne and Podrick will as well if you don’t get them out of that room soon.”

At that Jaime can only chuckle. Trust Bran to predict the evolution of the household’s well-being. Maybe he could have checked in on him yesterday before leaving Winterfell to know how much longer he’s going to suffer because of Joanne. 

“Get them out of there?” he asks skeptically. “Leaving Joanne all alone? Did he truly see that happening?”

“No, not really,” chuckles Arya. “Soldiers already know you won’t be in for training today, and Sansa’s aware as well. We can all do without your services for a couple of days.”

“Thank you for everything,” says Jaime, genuinely appreciative. Instead of letting the girl venture out into the cold again, he opens the door fully to let her in. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll make something for breakfast.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of the work!!! (more than likely)

“Try again!” Jaime orders in a yell. At his command, the two soldiers launch at each other again, grunts and swords clashing raising in the air. 

Holding a sword on his left hand, time after time stretching his wrist and arm with his now fighting hand, he walks in circles around the fighting pit. He assesses the movements, decisions taken in split seconds, agility, speed, strength, and precision of the two combatants. Even before he lost his hand, his eyes had been trained to assess all those little details in an enemy that might balance the fight in favor or against, a valued skill when it comes down to evaluating a soldier’s weaknesses and strengths. 

To his back, Podrick’s leading the other half of the soldiers in their training--truly making Brienne and Jaime proud. He’s come so far thanks to Brienne’s personal lectures, however tough they might have been, that he can now hold his head up high. It’s no wonder that Brienne, whenever she’s having a lazy morning, trusts Podrick to see to the new recruits. 

In front of Jaime, the two soldiers in battle grunt again as their swords meet, and Jaime turns around, focusing on the fight he’s supposed to oversee. Auden’s on his knees, dropping his arms to his sides, as Wischard looks down on him, gasping heavily, both seizing the chance to catch their breath. 

“Hold on for a second,” says Jaime. 

At his signal, Wischard nods respectfully and steps away, swinging his sword, and Jaime kneels by Auden’s side, grabbing the shield he’s dropped to the ground. 

“Are you tired, boy?” he asks. 

“A bit, my Lord,” the young soldier manages to utter between gasps. 

“Well, start using this,” Jaime instructs, raising his forgotten shield. “You’re only using your sword to blockade every blow. Fighting like that, you make two big mistakes: one, you’re leaving undefended your whole side if you don’t start using your shield. And second, your dominant arm will get tired so much faster, which means you’ll endure so much less fighting time than your combatants. And that simply won’t do.” 

“It’s just--”

“We all know how heavy shields are,” interjects Jaime before he hears that excuse one more time from young and naïve soldiers. “But they’re also an essential part of your armor, son, one that’ll save your life more time than you can count.” 

“I understand, my Lord,” he whispers, his head dropped. 

“You just need to keep practicing and practicing,” Jaime finishes, softer voice now, for all knights remember the struggle of their first days of training. “It’ll come a day, not too far away, where you won’t even notice the weight of the shield and the sword.” 

“Can’t wait for that day to come,” Auden jokes. 

Jaime pats him on the shoulder. “You keep practicing like that, it’ll come sooner than you think.” 

“With Lord Brienne’s training? I’m sure of it,” nods the boy. 

Jaime finds himself unable to answer this time. Sure, Brinny might be tough and relentless when it comes to the soldiers, but that’s because she’s aiming at Lady Sansa owning the fiercest and most experienced army in the Seven Kingdoms. Every last man looks up to her in appreciation for her training and efforts--in time. Some tough love might prove more successful than indulgence and excessive kindness. 

Instead of fumbling for words, Jaime jumps to his feet and drags Auden with him. He helps the boy with his sword, then his shield, and waits for the nod from Auden to make sure he’s ready for the next fight. 

“Edric, you’re next,” Jaime calls out, snapping his fingers at the soldier next in line to fight against Audren. 

As the two soldiers step forward and embrace for the fight, Jaime leaves the fighting pit and that’s when he sees Brienne returning. She’s got a strange look on her face that vanishes upon her locking eyes with Jaime--and then she flashes a warm, reassuring smile across the grounds. Jaime bows his head at her, Brienne corresponds, and then she addresses Podrick. His teaching days are over, for he hurries to the end of the line so he gets a turn to fight and be evaluated by Lord Brienne too. 

Jaime turns around, to the expecting Auden and Edric. “Fight!” he orders. 

Today’s session lasts for less than an hour still, and then Brienne orders everyone back to the Castle for rest and to eat something. Everyone looks relieved for the ending of training, and yet conversations spring out the minute the soldiers drop their sparring swords, shields, and spears and head over to the Castle. 

Everyone except Podrick, that is, who remains behind to exchange some advises Brienne can still offer the man. Jaime stays behind as well, giving them time to wrap up the conversation by picking up a few stray weapons. 

The surprise comes when Brienne sends Podrick off to Winterfell and doesn’t join him back to the Castle. Albeit winter is still months away, it’s already cold enough to look forward to the warmth of crackling fires at the dining hall. Instead of relishing all of that, however, Brienne just takes her sword out, sits on a stool, and starts sharpening her sword with a whetstone. 

Jaime realizes that she’s stalling for time, maybe she wants to tell him where she’s been this morning out here in the privacy of the training grounds. Giving her as much time as she needs to come up with the appropriate words, Jaime grabs another whetstone, sits by Brienne’s side on another stool and takes his sword out. Resting the sword’s hilt on his golden hand, he mimics Brienne’s slow, gentle movements as she sharpens her sword, almost caressing the blade, the metal shining in the waning sun. 

“I’m afraid you or Podrick will have to take over training the recruits in a few weeks,” Brienne says after a moment. 

“And why’s that?” Jaime asks softly. Knowing how much Brienne enjoys and adores her duties, only a very good reason would keep her away from spending time sparring and fighting her men. 

“Well, you didn’t allow me to, last time.” 

The whetstone slips from Jaime’s hand and falls on the ground. He couldn’t care less about it as he turns to look at Brienne in the eye--by the looks of it, he knows he shouldn’t be worried, and he breathes again. 

“Last time?” 

Brienne lays her sword on the ground carefully. “Last time I was with a child.” 

Minutes later, soldiers, stewards, Ladies and Lords could swear they’re able to hear Lord Lannister’s laughter from Winterfell Castle itself, but very few people would we out in the training grounds to confirm or deny that it was indeed Jaime. 

The two Lords involved wouldn’t care, however, for any witnesses, as Jaime, disbelieving his ears, has forced Brienne to repeat those words a total of three times before he could register them. And then, overjoyed with happiness, he takes Brienne into his arms and spins her over his head. He keeps laughing and keeps on circling her around and around until they’re both dizzy and the woman orders him to put her feet back on the ground. 

He complies in the end, but does not release his grip. He simply will not allow Brienne to get away so soon. Gasping, unable to keep his lips from smiling, he stops for a second to gaze straight into Brienne’s eyes. 

_He needs to know._

Before he needs to utter the question aloud, he gets the answer in the satisfied and beyond exultant look in Brienne’s eyes. And for further confirmation, also in the passionate, unashamed way she kisses him next. She’s happy, confident, sure, and actually looking forward to having their second child together. 

This time around, not even half the doubts that once filled her mind hover over her now. She’s seen what a wonderful joy having and raising Joanne has become; she doesn’t fear the prospect of children. As a matter of fact, Jaime realizes right then, that he might be the scared one in the equation, scared out of his mind to screw things up, to disappoint Brienne, or Joanne, or their future child. To fail his children just as it happened three times before; fail his duties to protect them all from harm. 

He decides not to express those worries and concerns either, for they’ve got no place in this conversation here and now, and would do Brienne no good to hear how stiff scared he was every step of the way with Joanne. 

Instead, he just kisses Brienne again, breaking the kiss because he doesn’t know what he needs to do next, if burst out laughing or cry of joy. 

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! Hope you enjoyed my work!

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped it'd be enough to erase from my memory what they did to Jaime and Brienne... Unfortunately, it wasn't.


End file.
